Hoot Owl Holler Mandy Tedford   © Copyright 2024 by Mandy Tedford

Image by Erik Karits from Pixabay

August 1920’s

She was eight years old when her family left the parched plains of Kansas bound for the lush Northwest Arkansas Ozarks. The news from family there of an economic flourish due to new canneries and hatcheries drew them back home with newfound optimism. The years of tenant farming in the unforgiving prairie had worn her daddy gaunt and thin. She watched him drive the mules from the back of the wagon where she sat with her two brothers and sister. Mommy sat beside him holding the baby with her graying auburn hair pulled tightly into a bun. Frequently she would turn and check on her babies always giving them a reassuring smile. Her mommy’s sister, Aunt Belle lived in Springdale with her husband Stanford and four children. Stanford got hired on at a hatchery while she and the kids’ sorted apples for canning. Belle said that they were finally able to move out of the cramped, bug infested government housing and into their own home. 

Her daddy pulled up stakes for good when word came of a man named Burris who was looking for sharecroppers to fill up barrels for a new cannery in Siloam Springs, Arkansas. His 40-acre farm was near a tiny community called Thornsberry several miles west of Springdale and deep in the hills. 

The miserable trip of burning sun, chilly rain and chafing wind through Kansas finally ended as they crossed into the dense forests of Northeast Oklahoma. They made camp in the thick grass near the Illinois River and rested before the last leg of their journey. They ate fat fish roasted on an open fire and sweet corn bread mashed up in buttermilk. Being born in Kansas, Leona had never seen such a beautiful place.

Days later, on a steamy September after noon, they finally bounced into the community of Thornsberry, Arkansas. Mr. Burris took them to the tiny, clapboard tenant house that was home. It sat on a hill surrounded by ancient Oaks, Elms and Sugar Maples that created a canopy over the dirt road that wound its way around her house and down into the holler. A white, one-story church sat snuggled up into the branches of the western woods with the graveyard’s tombstones dotting the freshly mown lawn. Black cows and spotted goats grazed near Osage Creek where Cottonwood trees grew at odd angles out of the bank.

Mommy put everyone to work scrubbing the house and clearing the wagon while Mr. Burris took her daddy to the fields. Leona watched her brothers laughing and chopping wood then stacking it tight against the house. Her sister, Bea was washing their dusty clothes and linens then hanging them on the line to dry. Using her finger, Leona wrote her name in the dirty kitchen windowpane that she was supposed to be cleaning and smiled.

Mommy was humming an old gospel tune while rocking baby Irene to sleep. She had poke boiling on the wood stove and corn bread baking to go with the chicken she had floured up for frying later.

Before dinner mommy made the boys haul in water from the spigot out by the outhouse so she could warm it on the stove for bathing. All the kids took turns climbing into the big metal tub and washing their old life away. 

Nightfall found the family gathered around the fireplace while daddy read to them and smoked his hand rolled cigarettes. Leona could not remember ever feeling so content.

The town folks stopped in with introductions, food, and homemade gifts. The church doubled as a schoolhouse and the kids started to school after getting settled. 

Mrs. Primrose taught Kindergarten through the twelfth grade even though most of the kids were lucky to get just a few years of education. At recess on her first day Leona made friends with Mary Mulligan, a girl her age with red hair and green eyes. Mary’s family had moved there from the east coast the year before. She told Leona that she was from Ireland but had never been there. 

They pushed each other on the old tire swing and laughed at the boys throwing around a football. Mary told her that she had lived near the ocean until her baby sister was eaten by a big fish. Her parents were so distraught that they moved to the center of the country as far away from the sea as possible. She went on to tell Leona that the holler they were standing in was haunted by a man in pain. Every time the leaves changed; he would start moaning from somewhere deep in the woods. 

Leona wasn’t sure what to believe from Mary, but she scoured the tree line all around them just in case.

Walking home that afternoon Leona asked her older brother Ray if he had heard anything about a moaning sound from a man in pain. He looked at her like she had several heads stuck on her little shoulders.

After that day Leona forgot about the moaning. The community was in a flurry with pulling in the fall harvest and stocking up for the cold weather that loomed on the horizon. As October came knocking, she was buried in schoolwork and excelling at all her classes. 

The days became shorter along with the turning of the leaves and low gray skies. A crisp breeze cut through the community carrying many spells of light rain and an eerie lull. Folks scurried with their faces down and shawls wrapped tight. 

At dusk doors were closed with only soft glows lighting the windows of homes dotting the hillsides. The high-spirited Sundays at church were now solemn and school days quiet. Leona noticed that the boys at recess didn’t stray into the graveyard to play kick the ball but hunkered close to the building in groups. Mrs. Primrose stood in the window keeping a watchful eye on her flock and the holler.

Mr. Burris and his family came for dinner one foggy evening toting a bounty of pumpkins, corn cobs, breads, apples, and gourds all plucked from their farm. 

As mommy popped some corn over the blazing fire, Mr. Burris and her daddy lit their pipes. All the kids huddled close to the fireplace gnawing on candied apples. Their house was stuffed with the smell of fresh popcorn, sweet tobacco, and strong coffee. 

Mr. Burris rocked back into his chair and squinted his eyes at the small crowd. “Have you all heard about the moaning down in Hoot Owl Holler, yet?”

Leona’s eyes snapped to attention, and she raised her hand as though she was in school. Mr. Burris chuckled at her, “You have?” he asked.

“No, sir, I mean, Mary Mulligan told me.” She stammered.

Her mommy seemed to be as intrigued as the kids, but a worried frown crossed her daddy’s brows as he stared into the fire.

“Where is that?” Mommy asked quietly.

The rest of the kids stared wide-eyed with their mouths agape. Leona elbowed her brother Ray in the ribs and whispered, “Told ya!” between thinned lips. He did not even notice.

“It’s the holler down behind us where the creek runs. The fella I bought my land from said the Indians had come up with that name due to all the Great Horned Owls that nest down there.” He studied them all for a moment then continued. “I heard it come out low the other night, I ain’t sure no one else heard it cept Clint.” Mr. Burris motioned towards his eldest son who nodded in agreement. “I took up my lantern and we walked to the edge of the porch. There it came again from the same place and this time a year.” Mr. Burris paused and took a swig of coffee and a puff off his pipe.

The only sounds during the pause were the crackling fire and the old house creaking against the chilly wind. Leona was frozen in fear with the candied apple stuck to her lips.

“We moved up here from eastern Tennessee four year ago. “He continued, “I thought folks was pulling my leg about such nonsense until it turned cold. Then after dark, almost every night, you’d hear this moaning starting way down in the holler. Sounding like a man in terrible pain, and then like an animal or something else. It’d get louder til it reached the top of the ridge then it’d start back down.” 

Mr. Burris was bent over with his hat pulled low, his face inches from Ray’s. “I ain’t never heard a thing like that in my life.” He looked at all the faces branding them with his truth.

The Burris clan nodded slowly. Clint grabbed a popped corn cob and took a bite glancing warily toward the blacked-out window.

“Appalachia where we hail from has deeper, darker forests than anything around here. I grew up in those mountains. Lived in ‘em all my life til we come here. Me and my boys hunted, fished, and camped all the time. I never not once heard anything belched up out of those mountains that sound like this.”

“Then last Autumn we started seeing a light moving down by the road. Looked like a fellow carrying a lantern, but when we got down there it disappeared then showed up way down the road ahead of us. There ain’t no man can move that fast! By the time we got back on top it was back where it started.”

“The older folks here call it the old haint in the holler. Stories passed down for generations about the Osage and Cherokee Indians that died down there. Rebel soldiers thrown together in graves here and there, even the James Gang hid out in the caves of these hills. Where bloods been shed there is no peace.”

Mr. Burris refilled his pipe as Mrs. Burris refilled coffee cups and passed out slices of apple pie. Everyone remained silent only their eyes moving toward the holler beyond the north wall of the house.

“There’s an old cave tucked up by the creek down there. Some of us went down there in the daylight a few years back.” He continued, nonchalantly. “The face of it was all covered in briars and brush. The Indians must’ve used it at one time because we uncovered a hole on top where their campfire smoke could escape. I found caves like that all over Appalachia. We even cleared it enough to get inside, but you can only go aways in before it’s sealed off with a collapse. Couldn’t find anything.”

“So, it’s already started, and it’ll go on for about a month or so. I thought it best to go ahead and tell ya’ll.” He leaned forward again and pointed his stubby finger at the kids, “Now I don’t want any of you kids messing around down there. Day or night don’t matter. We don’t know what that is down there.”

Her daddy shuffled over to the fire and threw another log on it then swiveled on his heel toward them, “You heard Mr. Burris loud and clear. Whatever it is has been there a long time and it’s for the men to worry about. None of my kids better go near it.” Then he stood and took baby Irene from mommy and put her to bed. Leona could tell that her daddy was scared for them and the look he gave mommy said as much.

They all still sat in the same positions their faces blanched by the firelight and pure terror. Her mommy stopped rocking and bore her brown eyes into theirs, “You heard your daddy. Now eat some of this corn I done popped up.” Then she handed everyone an ear. 

Leona went to bed with her eyes wide open, corn in her teeth and candied apple on her face. 

A few days went by without any strange sounds from the holler. They made Fall decorations at school and mommy began working on their costumes for the upcoming Halloween Festival. Leona decided she wanted to be an Indian squaw so mommy used old buttons for beads to go in her hair and cut up an old night dress so she would have a frayed smock. Mommy had some old rouge she could smear under her eyes, too. 

Daddy and Mr. Burris were busy in the fields planting rows of spinach, garlic, and lettuce for the spring harvest while everyone else went about their routines. Leona began to suspect that everyone had played a joke on the kids about the ol haint.

Then a front moved through ushering in a cold, steady rain that threw out a few ice pellets now and then. Leona was doing her homework under the kerosene lamp as the rain drummed on the window next to her. She suddenly froze lifting her pencil from the paper as her brown eyes slid over to the window. Then she heard it again, louder this time. It was real. She jumped away from the table and ran right into her daddy who was smashing on his hat and grabbing his rifle. 

“Cut that lamp off and stay inside!” he yelled, slamming the door behind him.

Everyone was in one room now huddled near the fireplace, the only light left in the house.

She could hear men talking outside and if she knew her daddy at all, he was going to look for it.

Hunching over she ran to the window peeking over the sill. It came again even louder, a horrible, deep moan that howled for at least five seconds. She could feel the vibration on the wood under her fingers. Through the distorted window she could see the shadows of the men grouped together holding lanterns in one hand and rifles in the other. Terror seized her whole body as she watched them walk down into the holler until she could only see the glow from their lanterns. 

“Leona Belle get over here by me!” her mommy hissed. 

A knock at the door made them all scream, and they were relieved to see Mrs. Burris and her sons.

“I knew you would be scared to death! We brought some pie and coffee.” Mommy hugged her tight thanking her.

“I wish they wouldn’t keep going down there!” Mrs. Burris exclaimed shaking off the rain.

“How can you stand it every year!” Leona hadn’t seen her mommy this rattled since the time Ray broke his arm.

“Well, we love it out here and the farming’s good, we just make it through, but if he gets hurt I don’t know what we’ll do.” Mrs. Burris said her voice trailing off.

Worried about her daddy, Leona went back to the window squinting against the sheets of rain. A blurry light appeared from behind the outhouse and gently bounced toward her. It might have been a man with a lantern, but it was bright and not a dull yellow. There was no outline of someone behind it neither. She struggled to see it as it moved in and out of the trees and then down into the holler the same way her daddy went. 

She kept it to herself and waited as the next groan seeped out of the wood line and to the window. There were no men’s raised voices or gunshots to be heard just the moaning and the blowing rain. 

When the men finally got back inside, they were soaked to the skin and huddled over the dinner table speaking low with their wives. Daddy’s boots were caked with mud full of twigs and leaves. His pant legs were wet all the way to the hem of his coat. The Burris’ went home, and daddy filled the fireplace up with wood causing it to spark and spit. Then he settled into his chair and rolled a cigarette.

“We went down there, followed the sound to that ‘ol cave. It wasn’t coming from the cave more like around it.” He spoke calmly his calloused hands deftly working the tobacco into the paper. “There’s a strange feeling down there.” Then he looked at them, “Whatever it is it can’t be shot, so you kids stay clear from down there. Now go on and get to bed. I love ya.”

With mommy and daddy sitting up with the fire Leona drifted off into a sound sleep where she had nightmares of being chased by a howling lantern.

For that entire week, the moaning came every night. Daddy never went back down in the holler. He’d sit on the porch with Ray and hold vigil over the family. Leona would sneak out and sit on her daddy’s lap quivering each time the moaning moved up toward them.

One gray afternoon when school let out Leona and Mary hid in the graveyard until everyone had left. 

“Let’s just walk down the road til it bends back.” Leona whispered to Mary behind a tombstone.

Mary’s eyes widened and she shook her red head no.

“Oh, come on! It’s not that far. You said you would!”

“My daddy will wear me out!” she hissed back at her. “It’ll be dark soon anyways.”

Leona picked up a rock and threw it, “Well, I’m going. You run on home, priss.”

Mary grabbed her books and ran out of sight.

Leona knew her mommy would be with Mrs. Burris at the little store by Hwy 68 today and her daddy was in the fields until after dark. During the safety of day light, she wanted to go down the road just once. Pulling Carl’s old coat tighter she bent low and shuffled through the carpet of wet leaves and onto the muddy road. Instead of going up the hill to home, she continued straight with the pastures on her left and the tapestried hillside on her right. The end of the road was black where the trees overhead thickened and it bent down further into the holler. Her chill deepened and she could see her breath briefly before the wind carried it off.  An Owl hooted a warning from deep in the woods and she slowed her pace realizing it was a longer walk than she had realized. The black abyss yawned before her, if she went any farther, she would be in it. A heavy mist started clinging to her face and coat and a low-lying fog slithered its way along the top of the creek towards her. Though it was still day the air of night surrounded her. She started walking backwards, eyes darting everywhere. Turning to run she looked back and saw the white light emerge from the blackness. 

She screamed and tried to run faster, but her legs were wooden. Looking back again it was closer as if it were running too. Her lungs burned and she tripped on a rock but kept her balance. Finally, she reached the church and looked back again, but it was gone. She raced up the hill and onto her porch where she took a minute to catch her breath and calm her nerves before going inside. That night the moaning was deeper and longer. Her daddy and Ray stayed up most of the night feeding the fireplace and listening. She snuggled way down under the heavy quilts and got as close to Bea as possible. She never told any of them what she did or saw on that late Autumn afternoon.

On Halloween the kids were let out of school early so they could get dressed up in their costumes and come back for the festival. All the men left the fields before dusk so they could clean up and the women were packing their baskets with loads of goodies. As dusk crept into Hoot Owl Holler the townsfolk began walking to the school with their lanterns, baskets, and excited children in disguise. 

Mrs. Primrose and her husband welcomed them with carved, candle lit pumpkins, cornstalks and life-sized scarecrows giving the school a creepy air. The fog again climbed up from the creek and crawled into the yard shrouding the tombstones. Inside,  a large, metal wash tub was filled with water and apples for bobbing. In the back was men in overalls playing festive music on guitar and a lady dressed as a witch playing the upright piano and singing. Tables were covered in flour sacks and topped with pies, cakes, cookies, cornbread, brown beans, collard greens and jars of sweet tea and coffee. 

The kids were running around inside and out playing spook the spook and hide n seek in the graveyard. A group of men were huddled around a bonfire coming out of a metal drum, laughing, passing a jar of white lightning, and puffing on tobacco. 

The moaning was hard to hear at first with all the merriment, but once it started everyone quietly went inside and the band just played louder.

Leona, in her Indian squaw outfit pressed her painted face to the window and peered out into the night. She could hear the moaning clear and saw the same yellow light bounce out from behind a cornstalk near the door. She muffled a scream as she watched the wispy outline of a gray soldier carrying the light go past the window and disappear into the fog beyond the graveyard gates. 

That would be the last time she would hear the moaning or see the light.

The next Spring her daddy caught tuberculosis and died. Mommy packed them up and moved them to Springdale to live with her sister.

Springdale, Arkansas would later become home to Tysons Chicken, JB Hunt Transportation, George’s Chicken and Allen Canning Company.

Leona married, raised seven children, and lived in Springdale, Arkansas, until her death in 2013 at the age of 94. 

My grandmother never forgot about Hoot Owl Holler and the eerie happenings there. She passed the story on to me, and I’ve continued the legacy of it. We went down there again when I started writing her story and I could feel the chill coming from the woods on a warm summer’s evening.

*****

My name is Mandy Tedford, I am 53 years old and I’ve lived in the northwestern corner of Arkansas my entire life. My career choices have mostly been made up of law enforcement dispatching and animal services. I have written a lot of different stories and only submitted a few but I have never been published.