Anson is a town of about 2,800 residents and part of the Abilene metropolitan area. Gregorio Cortez of His Pistol in His Hand fame is buried there too, but that’s not really part of this story.

This is a place where three colleges (ACU, Hardin-Simmons, and Abilene Christian) converge and so the number of people who have seen these lights may or may not have a 0 sum of liquor in them at any given time.

This is the way it was told to me:

On a deserted country road, just down from an old cemetery drive to the crossroads, turn your car around, kill the engine, and flash your lights three times. If you’re lucky a white light no bigger than a tiny dot would appear on the hori­zon. Seeming miles away at first, it would grow to the size of a basketball as it came closer and drifted from left to right, then disappear before returning.

As the story goes apparently a long time ago a young boy begged his mother to go camping by him­self. She eventually agreed, but gave him a lantern. She instructed him that if he needed help, all he had to do was flash the lantern three times and she would come. But the boy never returned from that night and no body was ever found. When his long-grieving mother passed away she was buried in the cemetery So she rises from the dead with a lantern each time she sees the headlights.

So if you’re going to go check it out for yourself, wait until after midnight. And don’t be afraid if you see a bunch of college kids hanging out at the crossroads. They call it “beer-drinking corner” and they’re just as curious as you.

But don’t get out the car. You’re not her missing son and she has no interest in you at all, that is unless you get too close. Grieving mothers are known to lash out and I’d hate for the last thing you ever see to be the Anson Lights.

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There’s a reason for this.

In the summer of 1988, seventeen-year-old Tate Rowland was found hanging from that tree. His father cut him down after a friend of Tate’s told him what had happened. Though the county sheriff would later say that every family member he interviewed couldn’t imagine Tate wanting to take his own life, an eyewitness claimed to have seen Tate hang himself. And it was true that Tate’s long-time girlfriend had just married someone else. Officially the case was labeled a suicide.

The fact that there were two rope burns visible on Tate Rowland’s neck—one above the Adam’s apple, one below presented a problem. When someone is hanged, the body weight invariably pulls the chin toward the rope so that the rope mark is always above the Adam’s apple. Was Tate strangled first with the rope, then hung up in the tree to make it look like suicide? No answer because no autopsy was ordered.

A few days later, the Childress Police Department, were told that tree had been turned into a satanic altar. Officers arrived to find a cow skull lodged into the tree. Beneath it were logs surrounding a pile of rocks.

It was regarded as one of those tragic mysteries and the impulsive act of youth until May 1991. That was when Tate’s older sister was found dead, face down on a bed. And then, in quiet little Childress, a town of 5,800 in the southeast corner of the Panhandle, the panic hit like a clap of thunder.

This kicked off the Stanic Panic in this small town.

Terrifying tales had been whispered around town since Tate’s death. It was said that he had been murdered by a satanic cult that lived in town. According to the rumors, the cult was made up of 10 - 12 members. The editor of the local newspaper had heard that twenty cultists attended the sacrifice of Tate and his sister, 27-year-old Terrie Trosper, was then murdered because she knew too much about the cult.

Stone altars, mutilated animals, defaced tombstones, and black-robed Satanists who met in abandoned houses were sighted. Driving past the cemetery, Officer Conners saw a figure standing by Tate Rowland’s grave. When he came by later to check, he found spittle all over Tate’s tombstone. More than one person reported seeing teenagers eating pages from a Bible and then foaming at the mouth. Another rumor had the cult searching for a blond child to use as a human sacrifice.

Due to the many bizarre satanic-related confessions from people who said they knew about the crimes the sheriff reopened the old cases. The district attorney convened a grand jury to investigate them. Bodies were exhumed. An expert on satanic cults arrived to give a seminar to the townspeople on how to spot a devil worshiper and later helped the sheriff sift through evidence. Certain citizens were subpoenaed to tell the grand jury what they knew about the cult and the murders; others freely called up the sheriff’s office and provided names and phone numbers of people they believed were cult members.

Just after Halloween that year came a “confession” made to the police by fifteen-year-old Ray Wilks. One of the town’s more renegade teenagers, Ray was arrested for stealing a car and drunkenly smashing it into a light pole. According to the arresting officers, when Ray was booked, he said he was a member of a satanic cult that had been at the tree when Tate was hanged. After that the Wilks family became synonymous with the rumored satanic cult in town.

One might have figured, as time passed, that the whole story would finally die down. But then Terrie Trosper showed up dead—and when Childress residents heard where she had died, they couldn’t believe their ears.

Terrie had died in the infamous “devil house” of Frank Wilks.

Terrie’s new boyfriend was a 28-year-old ex-convict named Ricky Bradford, who was then a close friend of Frank Wilks’s 22-year-old son, Darwin. Both Darwin and Ricky had been convicted and sent to the state prison in separate cases of aggravated assault. On the night of her death, Terrie, Ricky Bradford, Darwin, and some friends were at the Wilkses’ house, drinking.

Terrie had been drinking heavily—at the autopsy, her blood alcohol level was determined to be .23, more than twice the legal intoxication limit.

An autopsy determined that Terrie had died by choking on her own vomit. Officers from the Childress Police Department, finding no evidence of foul play, closed the case. Yet allegations quickly surfaced that Terrie’s death was somehow linked to Tate’s. “She never believed Tate took his own life,” says Lisa Barber, a courthouse secretary and long-time friend of Terrie’s. “Right up to her death, she never accepted it. She was hell-bent on finding out who killed him.” Ricky Bradford admitted to me that Terrie once told him that Tate had warned her to keep her daughters in the house because the cult was going to sacrifice one of them in a satanic ritual.

Days later Darwin Wilks attempted to kill himself by swallowing nearly 30 tablets of Elavil, a mild anti-depressant that has tranquilizing effects. He left a suicide note that read, “I know something that the cops don’t know. I know who killed Terrie. I can’t live anymore.” However when he recovered he recanted saying he didn’t even remember writing the note.

After exhuming Tate’s body they discovered that because Tate’s casket was not airtight, he was too decomposed for the medical examiner, Dr. Veasey, to make any conclusive judgments. But a drug test did find traces of Elavil. The same thing Darwin Wilks used to attempt suicide. By no means a party drug—“It’s the kind of thing you take to sleep,” says the district attorney David McCoy. He suggested that it might be the very thing a cult would use to sedate a sacrifice before killing him. The rumor mill went berserk.

The grand jury requested Terrie Trosper’s body be exhumed too. Dr. Veasey, after studying the previous autopsy of her death, said it was unlikely that she could have choked to death since she had been lying face down. Less than a week before Halloween 1991, the new autopsy results were announced: Terrie had died of asphyxiation, most likely smothering. The report said that contusions on her body, especially on her inner thigh, and bruises in her mouth “indicated blunt trauma, likely incurred during an assault.” McCoy told the press that more than one person may have been involved in her killing—someone held her down while another did the smothering.

There was another thing found in Terrie’s body—Elavil. Though Veasey warned that he could only be 70 percent certain that Terrie Trosper’s death was from murder, McCoy vowed that he would pursue the case as a homicide.

Frank Wilks testified that Darwin told him Terrie had been murdered by another person in the house that night. But no one who was there would confess to anything.

That night David McCoy’s house mysteriously burned to the ground. The fire marshal said the fire was accidental. “But the first thing I thought was that someone was after me,” McCoy says. “I still wonder if that’s not what happened. Anything can be made to look accidental.”

No one was ever convicted of either death.

For more information

Wikipedia article

Here’s a little something to tide us over until next week.

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In the stillness of the night,
Footsteps echo, soft but sure.
A shadow stalks, unseen, unheard,
Its intent cold, relentless, pure.

Heartbeats race, a frantic drum,
Eyes wide in terror, breaths come quick.
Whispers of fate, a chilling hum,
The predator's eyes, were cold and slick.

Silent prayers to a deafening void,
Hope flickers, a dimming flame.
Survival's dance, a treacherous ploy,
Escape, the haunting, relentless aim.

Every shadow, a lurking threat,
Every sound, a dagger's twist.
Yet amidst the fear, a fire is met,
A will to live, to persist, to resist.

The night drags on, an eternity's wait,
The predator's steps, ever near.
But with dawn's first light, a cruel twist of fate,
The hunted becomes the hunter, the end draws near.

A scream, a struggle, a final plea,
Echoes fade, and silence reigns.
Survival's price, a soul set free,
But the horror forever remains.

My inlaws are coming to visit starting tomorrow. They are lovely people with no interest in the supernatural or horror in general. FIL is a retired engineer and has no curiosity for what I call the unexplained because to him it’s all explainable. MIL is a sweetheart but is easily scared. No talk of hauntings or serial killers there.

So I’m putting together a list of topics that I can't talk about but maybe you can.

Enjoy!

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1. Favorite Horror Movies: Share your favorite horror films and why they stand out to you. You never know who else loves splatter if you don’t! One of my favs is Don't Be Afraid of the Dark because little creatures are terrifying to me.

2. Ghost Stories: Share personal or well-known ghost stories, especially those with a winter theme. Leave Dickens out of it though. He gets enough play. I’ll share mine in another post sometime in the new year. Until then, here are a few from Today.

3. Haunted Places: Discuss reputedly haunted locations or places you've visited. Or maybe the ones you’ve read on this substack. Just a thought.

4. Urban Legends: Share and discuss local urban legends. Of course, you could always make up your own. There aren’t enough out there that keep up with the times. Top 10 Urban Legends

5. Horror Novels: Discuss horror literature, from classics to modern favorites. Recommend your favorite horror author. Remember: authors get paid when you buy their books. Horror makes a great gift! Here are some suggestions from women of color.

6. True Crime: While not strictly horror, true crime stories can be captivating and mysterious to discuss. And there are so many podcasts to choose from. Bonnie's Blog focuses on the victims.

7. Supernatural Experiences: Discuss any personal or shared experiences that felt supernatural or unexplained. You know, everyone has one. They just don’t talk about it. Adelaide's Blog is interesting.

8. Horror Podcasts: Discuss popular horror podcasts or episodes that stood out. Might I suggest Women In Caskets right out of our state capital?

9. Monsters and Creatures: Talk about favorite monsters or creatures from horror lore, like vampires, werewolves, or zombies. You can check out 66 of the greatest movie monsters right here.

10. Horror Soundtracks: Discuss iconic horror movie soundtracks or atmospheric music.Not sure which is your favorite? Rolling Stone put a list together for you.

11. Horror Comedy: Discuss the blend of horror and comedy in films like "Shaun of the Dead" or "The Cabin in the Woods." My favorite is terrible. It’s Thankskilling but only the first one. (Y’all this movie is SO bad.) It only gets weirder.

12. Personal Fears: Discuss common fears or phobias and how they are portrayed in horror. Yeah, we’re not that close yet. Maybe I’ll just post a list of phobias instead.

13. Future of Horror: Share thoughts on where the horror genre might be headed in terms of themes, storytelling, or technology. Personally, I don’t know. But here’s a list of future releases for 2024.

A collective letter to Substack leadership

Dear Chris, Hamish & Jairaj:

We’re asking a very simple question that has somehow been made complicated: Why are you platforming and monetizing Nazis? 

According to a piece written by Substack publisher Jonathan M. Katz and published by The Atlantic on November 28, this platform has a Nazi problem: 

“Some Substack newsletters by Nazis and white nationalists have thousands or tens of thousands of subscribers, making the platform a new and valuable tool for creating mailing lists for the far right. And many accept paid subscriptions through Substack, seemingly flouting terms of service that ban attempts to ‘publish content or fund initiatives that incite violence based on protected classes’...Substack, which takes a 10 percent cut of subscription revenue, makes money when readers pay for Nazi newsletters.”

As Patrick Casey, a leader of a now-defunct neo-Nazi group who is banned on nearly every other social platform except Substack, wrote here in 2021: “I’m able to live comfortably doing something I find enjoyable and fulfilling. The cause isn’t going anywhere.” Several Nazis and white supremacists including Richard Spencer not only have paid subscriptions turned on but have received Substack “Bestseller” badges, indicating that they are making at a minimum thousands of dollars a year.

From our perspective as Substack publishers, it is unfathomable that someone with a swastika avatar, who writes about “The Jewish question,” or who promotes Great Replacement Theory, could be given the tools to succeed on your platform. And yet you’ve been unable to adequately explain your position. 

In the past, you have defended your decision to platform bigotry by saying you “make decisions based on principles, not PR” and “will stick to our hands-off approach to content moderation.” But there’s a difference between a hands-off approach and putting your thumb on the scale. We know you moderate some content, including spam sites and newsletters written by sex workers. Why do you choose to promote and allow the monetization of sites that traffic in white nationalism? 

Your unwillingness to play by your own rules on this issue has already led to the announced departures of several prominent Substackers, including Rusty Foster and Helena Fitzgerald. They follow previous exoduses of writers, including Substack Pro recipient Grace Lavery and Jude Ellison S. Doyle, who left with similar concerns. 

As journalist Casey Newton told his more than 166,000 Substack subscribers after Katz’s piece came out: “The correct number of newsletters using Nazi symbols that you host and profit from on your platform is zero.” 

We, your publishers, want to hear from you on the official Substack newsletter. Is platforming Nazis part of your vision of success? Let us know—from there we can each decide if this is still where we want to be.

Signed, 

Substackers Against Nazis

The first wing of the castle was built in 1860 on the shores of Lake Worth by an unknown groom (it’s said the original documents were lost to a fire) as a gift to his future bride. To set the scene, it was basically in the middle of nowhere at the time. Like deep in the woods Hansel and Gretel style. The two planned to marry in the entryway as soon as it was completed.

I think you know where this is going. Like so many haunting tales, the bride dies mysteriously. Drowned. Found face down floating in the lake on her wedding day. So what is the grief-stricken groom to do? Oh, I know. Marry her little sister and move into the house a month later. What could go wrong?

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That’s when the hauntings began. Guests and staff alike reported seeing the transparent form of a woman in a flowing white dress crying as she scurried to the lake where she disappeared at the water’s edge. But it wasn’t until the owners themselves found watery footprints outside their bedroom door that they believed. It was sold immediately.

The place changed hands several times until a member of the Whiting family acquired it in a high-stakes poker game in 1920. He moved his extended family in and the sightings began again. His young son was especially taken with the idea that their home was haunted. However, the Whitings were a modern family and did not believe in ghosts and refused to speak to him about it. A few months later the boy killed himself inside his parents’ room. When a fire gutted the castle the Whitings sold it and left the area.

Numerous families purchased it, adding their touches and renovations. However, none stayed for more than a year. Along with the woman in white, the residents now reported seeing a boy running through the halls or hanging from an exposed beam as well.

In 1963, a woman named Karen Beck rented a room in the castle. She didn’t last long either. She was found dead in her bed with no cause of death. Maybe she saw something that frightened her so badly her heart stopped.

In 1982, Larry Keith Robison went on a killing spree on property that once belonged to the castle. Larry was a paranoid schizophrenic whose mother had repeatedly tried to get him treatment for his mental health issues.

Larry first slaughtered his roommate, decapitating him before moving to the house next door. There, he stabbed three members of the family to death. When the 4th arrived later, Larry killed him too.

It makes me wonder if there’s just something about the land itself that people should steer clear of.

You can visit the Castle of Heron Bay, if you dare, at 9115 Heron Drive in Fort Worth. Bring some binoculars though because the place is fenced off so you can’t get close. Maybe you’ll see her running to the lake. Maybe the boy will wave to you from a window. Maybe you’ll find the missing head. Who’s to say?

Just say your prayers because ghosts and Jesus are everywhere.

art by Daniel Eskridge

I had to take a break from my other writing gig today and delve into something new-to-me. I’m a native Texan and had never heard of the Wampus Cat, so I figured I’d share. Maybe you’ll need the information next time you’re headed down 35W and want to take a detour.

Anyway, let’s get started.

The legend of the Wampus Cat finds its roots in Native American folklore, specifically among the Cherokee people. However, details are sketchy. According to the legend, a woman was curious about a sacred ceremony that only men were allowed to attend. In an attempt to witness the event, she disguised herself by wearing a cat skin. However, her plan was foiled, and as punishment, she was transformed into a creature with the body of a woman and the features of a mountain lion or cat. So here we have a cautionary tale that amounts to “stay in your lane.”

Descriptions of the Wampus Cat vary, but common traits include a large, feline-like creature with yellow eyes, too many legs, sharp claws, and a haunting scream that sends shivers down the spines of those who hear it. Witnesses often report that the creature walks on its hind legs, adding to the enigma surrounding its existence.

Numerous alleged sightings of the Wampus Cat have been reported in the dense woods and remote areas of Texas. Locals and adventurous explorers alike claim to have encountered this mysterious creature, though there is no evidence to corroborate it. Some accounts describe the Wampus Cat as a guardian of the wilderness, while others paint it as a more ominous presence. Sounds a lot like a mountain lion to me, but it’s that extra set of legs that has me a little weirded out.

The legend of the Wampus Cat has become ingrained in Texas culture, contributing to the rich tapestry of local folklore. It serves as a cautionary tale, reminding individuals to respect traditions and nature. The creature has also found its way into contemporary discussions about cryptids and mysterious creatures. Even Itasca High School in Itasca, Texas has the Wampus Cat as its mascot.

While the existence of the Wampus Cat remains unconfirmed and speculative, its legend endures. Whether a guardian spirit or a spooky apparition, the Wampus Cat continues to capture the imaginations of those who seek the thrill of the unknown. As with many cryptids, the allure lies in the mystery, leaving room for the imagination to run wild and the legend to persist through generations.

I don’t know, man. Staying out of the woods at night seems like the best plan. Not just because of the Wampus Cat, but because… well… everything.

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I ate too much. Obvy. I stayed up too late. I drank too much. It was all in all a very indulgent week and this is not a complaint. I am very lucky that I was in a situation to celebrate with people I love around a fire pit out back.

It’s a weird time of year for me. I don’t get along with my family. I could meet with them as long as I’m okay with hearing racist, ableist, and homophobic opinions stated as if they are scientific facts. But I’m not, so you know, I don’t see them. This marks the time of year though when we are supposed to Hallmark versions of family. We never were and won’t ever be.

But I’ve been graced with found family. I have friends who are closer to my heart than anyone who shares DNA with me. We gathered and ate. We shared stories. We ate. We loved each other.

I’ve got some great memories to look back on and the love of my people to keep me moving forward.

So what I guess I’m saying is that I’m still full.

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The FORD method (Family, Occupation, Recreation, Dreams) is typically used for making casual conversation and building rapport in social situations. However, in the context of writing horror, you can use a twisted version of this method to create an eerie or unsettling atmosphere. Here's a modified version of the FORD method for writing horror:

1. Fears:

   • Instead of talking about family, delve into the characters' fears or the fears associated with the setting. Explore the dark secrets, phobias, or past traumas that haunt your characters.

2. Occupations (or Obsessions):

   • Instead of focusing on everyday jobs, explore the characters' obsessions or unusual occupations that might be connected to the horror elements. Maybe a character is a paranormal investigator or has a job in a mysterious research facility.

3. Revelations (instead of Recreation):

   • Replace recreational activities with revelations. Uncover unsettling truths, unveil hidden mysteries, or introduce unexpected twists that disturb the characters and readers alike.

4. Dread (instead of Dreams):

   • Dreams can turn into nightmares in the horror genre. Instead of discussing hopeful dreams, explore the characters' nightmares or the ominous visions that plague them. These could be premonitions or manifestations of their deepest fears.

By incorporating these elements into your writing, you can infuse a sense of unease and foreboding into the narrative, creating a horror story that keeps readers on the edge of their seats. Remember to build tension gradually and use the eerie details strategically to enhance the overall sense of horror in your writing.

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1. Monster Mash-Up Madness: Combine the scariest monsters you can think of into one hilariously terrifying creature. Picture a vampire-zombie-werewolf-ghost who's afraid of the dark. Embrace the absurdity!

2. When in Doubt, Add Zombies: Stuck in your plot? Throw in a horde of zombies! Zombies can spice up any story, and they don’t mind if you don’t take your writing too seriously.

3. Ghostly Grammar: If you're haunted by the fear of bad grammar, remember that even ghosts make mistakes. Let your writing spirit flow without worrying too much about perfection.

4. Hauntingly Bad Puns: Incorporate terrible horror-themed puns into your story. For example, "The vampire couldn’t make a good cup of tea; it always came out a little 'batty'."

5. The Case of the Missing Plot Twist: Write a scene where your characters are searching for a missing plot twist. Make it a hilarious, Scooby-Doo-style mystery with your characters running in and out of doors.

6. Monstrous Procrastination: Create a monster that embodies procrastination. Maybe it's a creature that feeds on unfinished manuscripts or a ghost that rearranges your writing notes when you're not looking.

7. Cliché Monsters Support Group: Imagine a support group for overused horror clichés – vampires complaining about sunburns, werewolves discussing their shedding fur problem, and ghosts swapping haunting tips.

8. The Horrifying Quest for Coffee: Write a scene where your protagonist faces their scariest challenge yet: making the perfect cup of coffee before the caffeine-deprived monsters awake.

9. Supernatural Writer’s Block: Your characters suddenly experience a supernatural writer's block. They can’t move forward until they defeat the evil muse who's holding their creativity hostage.

10. Plot Twist Parade: Throw in unexpected plot twists just for the fun of it. Have a monster reveal a secret passion for knitting or make your haunted house turn out to be a misunderstood introvert.

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The story, as far as I can find, first appeared in the May 11, 1901, edition of the Washington Bee — as in Washington, D.C. I’ve yet to find a local article at that time or even a reference to the event I’m about to share with you.

Maybe it was so terrifying for residents that it was kept out of the local papers.

According to the story, Ramie Arland was “a pretty girl and the acknowledged belle of Marble Falls.” One evening, her mother sent the girl out to gather the family’s sheep, which were grazing nearby.

As her mother went about her work inside the Arland home, Ramie’s scream pierced the evening air. Fearing for her daughter’s life, the woman raced out the door, where she heard more screams.

One of which was not her daughter’s but “the scream of a panther.”

Thinking that Ramie interrupted a mountain lion attacking the sheep, the girl’s mother dashed back into the house, grabbed a gun, and charged into the woods. She searched the area but found no sign of Ramie. Distraught, the woman returned home to gather others for a search party.

Folks combed the woods through the night but didn’t find Ramie, not even a single trace of her. No blood. No shredded clothing. No sign whatsoever.

It was like she vanished into thin air.

According to the story, as Ramie was tending the sheep and making her way along a trail, a “large black bear suddenly appeared” in front of her. The bear, wanting nothing to do with the girl, sprinted away. Then, “a curious-looking animal, running on four feet, sprang out of the chaparral into the trail.”

It was not a bear. Ramie thought it looked somewhat human, recalling a Kickapoo legend about the Bear King. The creature grabbed the girl, glared into her eyes, and let out a horrid sound.

The belle of Marble Falls thought surely the creature would tear her to pieces, but, instead, it tossed Ramie over its shoulder and raced toward the nearby mountains.

The creature lugged Ramie for miles until it reached its lair, a wretched-smelling cave tucked away where no human could find it.

Ramie believed this was the end of her. When the Bear King tossed her to the ground and left her lying there, she saw her chance and dashed for the cave’s entrance. But the creature grabbed her and hit her about the head.

The girl gave “herself up for lost.”

As she waited for the inevitable, Ramie noticed the Bear King getting tired. He slumped to the cave floor and fell asleep.

She remained patient and waited for at least an hour, then fled the cave.

The day after her disappearance, a hunter came upon a young, disheveled girl who was “aimlessly walking.”

It was Ramie.

The hunter helped her home, where her relieved mother was waiting.

Ramie quickly recovered from her ordeal and told everyone about her encounter with the Bear King.

A group of hunters headed out toward the mountains bent on killing the beast.

They found the Bear King and confronted it.

The creature stood up to the hunters, snapping and grinding its teeth while beating its chest. It roared at the men and let out a scream like a panther’s. The men took aim but hesitated.

It looked so human.

But the Bear King, full of rage, charged the men. Their gunfire brought it down.

So, was this some half-man, half-bear creature or maybe an animal unknown to science? Some cryptozoologists speculate it could have been a Bigfoot.

We’ll probably never know as there isn’t anything else to go on other than Ramie’s account.

Even though the article ran nationally in the Washington Bee and, apparently, the San Francisco Chronicle, there are some discrepancies in the story. The reporter refers to the Moon Mountains outside of Marble Falls. But, as you know, the area doesn’t have any true mountains and, specifically, any Moon Mountains. You might also wonder about the bear with which Ramie first crosses paths on the trail. While there aren’t any black bears in the Hill Country, especially in southern Burnet County, wildlife experts do believe the animal once lived here.

Then, there’s the Kickapoo legend Ramie recalls, but the tribe wasn’t known to have been in the Marble Falls area.

The Kickapoo did travel through Texas on their migration from the Midwest to Mexico, so it’s possible Kickapoo stories made their rounds in Texas, even finding their way to Ramie Arland’s ears in Marble Falls.

Yet, after trying to find any Kickapoo legend of the Bear King, I came up empty.

The story didn’t appear in any local publications, and I didn’t find it in local history texts. I also haven’t found the name Arland in Marble Falls or Burnet County during the time, or even several years past, the Washington Bee article was published.

Here’s the thing, though: I can’t prove it didn’t happen either. It’s a local legend after all, even if the original references appear in Washington and San Francisco newspapers.

It might even make you pause as you walk along a trail in the Highland Lakes and hear rustling in the brush. Could it be the Bear King of Marble Falls?

Wanna have a beer and talk about it? The Bear King Brewery sounds like a great place to do it.

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December 2, 1938 San Antonio Express headline

San Antonio, Texas, a city steeped in history, culture, and folklore, has long been a hotbed of paranormal activity. Among the myriad ghostly tales that haunt this city, one of the most chilling legends is that of the ghost children of San Antonio. Shrouded in mystery and tragedy, this eerie story has captured the imagination of locals and visitors alike, adding to the city's enigmatic charm.

In the heart of San Antonio lies the historic railroad tracks on Villamain Street, a place that has become synonymous with the ghost children legend. According to local lore, in the late 1930s, a school bus filled with children stalled on these very tracks. Tragically, before the bus could be moved to safety, an oncoming train collided with the vehicle, resulting in the untimely demise of all the children aboard.

Since that fateful day, numerous witnesses have reported sightings of ghostly apparitions of children playing near the tracks. Some claim to have heard laughter and the sound of children's footsteps, even when no one is in sight. Others have reported unexplained phenomena, such as car engines inexplicably stalling or small handprints appearing on vehicles parked near the tracks.

The legend of the ghost children has become deeply ingrained in San Antonio's culture. Many locals believe that the spirits of these innocent children remain trapped at the site of the tragedy, their playful giggles and spectral presence a reminder of the tragic event that took their lives. Some paranormal enthusiasts have conducted investigations at the location, capturing eerie photographs and recording unexplained voices, further fueling the mystery surrounding the ghostly apparitions.

Skeptics and scientists offer various explanations for the phenomenon, ranging from the power of suggestion to natural magnetic fields in the area causing electronic malfunctions. However, these explanations do little to dissuade the countless eyewitness accounts and the deep-rooted belief in the supernatural that persists among the locals.

The ghost children of San Antonio have become a significant part of the city's identity, drawing curious visitors from all over the world. Local businesses have embraced the legend, with ghost tours becoming a popular attraction, allowing brave souls to explore the haunted sites and hear the chilling tale firsthand. While some may dismiss it as a mere legend, the ghost children have undeniably left an indelible mark on the cultural fabric of San Antonio.

Whether one believes in the supernatural or not, the legend of the ghost children of San Antonio continues to captivate the hearts and minds of those who hear it. As the story is passed down through generations, the spirits of these unfortunate children live on, their presence a reminder of the city's rich history and the enduring power of folklore in shaping the collective imagination of a community. San Antonio, with its ghostly inhabitants, stands as a testament to the mysterious and unexplainable, reminding us that sometimes, the line between the living and the departed is thinner than we dare to imagine.

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First and foremost, they serve as excellent stress relievers. There's nothing like curling up with a good book or movie that makes your blood run cold after a long, exhausting day. Who needs therapy when you can just immerse yourself in a world where supernatural beings roam about, and every creaking floorboard could spell your doom? It's the perfect way to unwind and put your own problems into perspective. After all, nothing says "your life isn't that bad" like watching a character being chased by a chainsaw-wielding maniac, right?

Additionally, horror stories are an essential educational tool. They teach us valuable life skills, such as how to survive a zombie apocalypse, what not to do when you hear strange noises in the attic, and the importance of always carrying a flashlight in case your car breaks down near a haunted house. These are practical lessons that can undoubtedly come in handy. Maybe your horror trope knowledge might save your life one day.

Furthermore, horror stories provide endless entertainment for those who enjoy a good adrenaline rush. The thrill of being scared out of your wits, the anticipation of the next jump scare, and the sheer terror of the unknown – what more could anyone ask for in a form of entertainment? Forget about rom-coms and feel-good dramas; horror stories are where the real excitement lies. After all, there's something satisfying about feeling your heart leap into your throat while a deranged serial killer lurks in the shadows.

Let's not forget the social aspect of horror stories either. Is there a better way to bond with a loved one than by collectively screaming at the top of your lungs while watching a horror movie? It's a great opportunity to strengthen relationships, build trust, and create lasting memories. Who needs a quiet night in with a board game when you can have a heart-pounding, spine-tingling experience that will haunt your dreams for weeks? It's all in the name of fun, of course.

In conclusion, horror stories are undeniably necessary for a well-rounded, fulfilling life. They provide stress relief, valuable life lessons, endless entertainment, and unparalleled social bonding opportunities. So, the next time you're debating whether to watch a romantic comedy or a horror flick, remember that horror stories offer a unique and enriching experience that you simply can't find anywhere else. Embrace the fear, relish the adrenaline, and celebrate the fact that horror stories make life more exciting – and terrifying!

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Picture published in the Dallas Morning July 12, 1969

There’s just something about a cryptid. Who doesn’t just love a creature that may or may not exist? A Schrodinger's monster if you will.

In the summer of 1969, it was hot and terrible - as are all summers in Texas. Back then, the area near Greer Island in Fort Worth wasn’t gated off like now. It was a place where local teens came to do the things teens do in dark, empty places.

The story goes that somewhere around midnight a “beast” lept down from the trees onto the car. This led to a complete and utter stop of the things going on in the backseat. According to these folks, the monster tried to grab the woman through the open car window, but the driver was able to speed off. However, the beast left an 18-inch gash just under the window on the side of the car.

This led to a Texas-sized monster hunt.

The next night truckloads of people with guns (because of course there were) headed toward Greer Island to hunt the thing. Families with lawn chairs and coolers full of beer came out to catch a glimpse of it. Even reporters swarmed around the story and the police reportedly just tried to keep the peace between all the drunks with guns.

Rick Pratt, director of the Greer Island Nature Center at the time said, “Here was a Sasquatch, our very own. It was a party, what the hell, let’s go.”

Later that same night, a few dozen people were at a clearing near the lake that was known for dumping when the monster made another appearance. It stood on a cliff, looked angry, and threw a tire about 500 feet towards them. Everyone, including a group of sheriff’s deputies, took off running.

The monster has been described as a giant white goat that walks on two feet, has scales along its back, and long clawed fingers. Over the years it’s been seen by numerous people, but there’s never been another mass sighting like the summer of 1969.

In 2005, a reporter at the Fort Worth Star-Telegram received an anonymous letter from someone claiming to be one of three high school classmates who, in the summer of 1969, "decided to go out to Lake Worth and scare people" using a tinfoil mask. In 2009, Fort Worth, Texas magazine published a report about an unidentified man who said that he had been a perpetrator of the tire-throwing incident.

It doesn’t really matter because since 2009 (the 40th anniversary of the sightings), the Fort Worth Nature Center and Refuge has held a Lake Worth Monster Bash every October.

Guess what month it is?

If you feel like looking for the Lake Worth Monster, grab your hiking shoes and head out there. You never know what you might see.

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Ah, the mystical world of writing rituals! As if the process of putting words on paper wasn't already daunting enough, here comes the magical solution: establish a writing ritual. According to popular belief, this ritual will transform you from a mere mortal with a pen into a literary deity. It's as if the cosmos conspired to impart the wisdom that mere mortals must adhere to an intricate set of rules before they can even dare to dream of becoming a writer. So, let’s dive into this enchanting world with a splash of sarcasm, shall we?

First and foremost, one must find the perfect writing spot. You know, a place where the stars align, and the muses descend to grace you with their divine inspiration. Forget about the humble coffee shop or your cozy bed; you need an exotic location with just the right amount of pretentiousness. How else will the universe take your writing seriously if you're not surrounded by ancient relics and the scent of rare, imported incense?

Next, attire is paramount. You can’t just write in your everyday clothes; that would be sacrilege! No, you must adorn yourself in the finest garments, preferably a robe made from the feathers of phoenixes, or at the very least, something that makes you feel like a character from a Shakespearean play. A quill pen is a must, of course, because nothing says "serious writer" like ink stains on your fingers and a pen that's more feather than nib.

Let's talk about ambiance. The lighting must be soft, reminiscent of the glow emitted by a thousand fireflies on a midsummer night's dream. Candles, too, are essential. Not because they provide ambiance, but because they create the illusion that you're summoning words from the very depths of your soul, using ancient, mystical forces. Plus, it's a great way to increase your chances of setting your manuscript on fire accidentally – a true writer's rite of passage.

Music, too, plays a crucial role. Not just any music, mind you. You need a playlist curated by obscure indie artists whose names you can’t pronounce. Their melancholic tunes will sync perfectly with the tears you shed over every rejected manuscript. It's essential to ensure that your emotional turmoil matches the melancholy in the music – bonus points if you can harmonize your sighs with the violin in the background.

Let's not forget about sustenance. Writing, clearly, is a marathon, not a sprint. You can’t possibly be expected to create literary masterpieces on an empty stomach. A delicate balance of caffeine and snacks is necessary. But not just any snacks – organic, gluten-free, non-GMO, artisanal treats that have been blessed by writing deities. And coffee? It must be brewed using beans that have been handpicked under a full moon by fairies. Anything less, and your words will surely lack the depth and magic necessary to captivate readers.

In conclusion, establishing a writing ritual is an absolute must if you're aspiring to be a writer. Because everyone knows that the more elaborate your ritual, the more likely it is that your words will be infused with cosmic brilliance. So, dear aspiring writers, go forth and find your phoenix feathers, your obscure music, and your moonlit coffee beans. May your sarcasm be sharp, and your words be ever so enchanting. Happy writing – and may the muses be ever in your favor!

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In sacred halls, the faithful gather near, to partake in rites both old and dear, but in this communion, a tale unfolds, of sacraments shared and secrets it holds.

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La Carafe Dive Bar has a history that spans over a century, having first opened its doors in 1866. Originally known as the Kennedy Bakery, this historic structure has been through various transformations over the years, eventually becoming the beloved bar it is today. But it's not just the building's age that lends an air of mystery; it's the countless stories of ghostly encounters and unexplained phenomena that have given rise to its haunted reputation.

One of the most famous tales revolves around the ghostly figure of a former bartender named Carl. Regular patrons and staff members claim to have seen his apparition late at night, often sitting at the bar or arranging bottles on the shelves. Some believe that Carl is protective of the bar and its patrons, ensuring that the spirits remain lively, even in the afterlife.

Another intriguing story involves the ghost of a young woman who is said to have met a tragic end in the building many decades ago. Witnesses report hearing her laughter and footsteps, as well as seeing her reflection in antique mirrors throughout the bar. Some believe that she is searching for something or someone, and her presence adds to the eerie ambiance that La Carafe is known for.

The building itself is a visual testament to history, with its creaking wooden floors, vintage furnishings, and dimly lit rooms. The flickering candlelight and soft jazz music that fill the space contributes to the bar's old-world charm. Visitors often describe the atmosphere as both enchanting and haunting, a delicate balance that keeps them coming back for more.

La Carafe Dive Bar's haunted reputation has attracted paranormal enthusiasts from across the country. Ghost hunters and investigators have spent countless hours in the bar's dimly lit corners, searching for evidence of the supernatural. While some claim to have captured mysterious orbs and unexplained sounds on their equipment, others believe that the spirits of La Carafe may simply be content to share their space without revealing their presence in a more overt manner.

What sets La Carafe Dive Bar apart from other haunted locations is the fact that the stories and experiences surrounding it are shared openly and embraced by both staff and patrons. Instead of shying away from its reputation, La Carafe has embraced its haunted history and woven it into the fabric of the establishment. Visitors are encouraged to share their own ghostly encounters, adding to the rich tapestry of lore that surrounds the bar.

In a city known for its modernity and rapid development, La Carafe Dive Bar stands as a timeless testament to Houston's past. Its haunted reputation only adds to its allure, drawing in those seeking a unique and slightly eerie experience. Whether you're a believer in the supernatural or simply curious, a visit to La Carafe is sure to leave you with a sense of wonder and a newfound appreciation for the rich history that dwells within its walls. So, the next time you find yourself in Houston, step into La Carafe Dive Bar, order a glass of wine and immerse yourself in the mysterious and haunted charm of this iconic establishment. Who knows, you might just have an encounter with one of its resident spirits.

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Several states have a Goatman tale, with Texas having a few itself, but each have reminders of threats from a forgotten past. Liminal areas of crossing can be full of possibility and danger, present injustices are informed by past prejudices, and there are critters – like snakes or gators – down in the creek that young ’uns should be leery of. The Goatman isn’t just a haunting campfire tale, it’s also a reminder that ignorance of our history is no protection from its consequences.

Denton’s famous specter comes from a story handed down for generations with a few variations. Built in 1884, Old Alton Bridge was a busy thoroughfare. Many people reporting frightening encounters and ghostly experiences with supernatural creatures have made it a legendary spot for Texas ghost hunters.

The most common version of the story points to an African-American family that tended a farmstead goat herd near the bridge. They were renowned for quality meat, milk, cheeses, and hides. When they proudly hung a sign on the Old Alton Bridge directing “This way to the Goatman,” it infuriated local Ku Klux Klansmen who plotted violence.

In the middle of the night in the 1930s, a lynch mob of Kluxers stormed the family’s home and dragged the screaming goat herder to their noose waiting on the bridge, tightened the rope around the begging man’s neck, then flung him off the side. However, when the Night Riders stumbled down to the dark river’s edge to confirm their handiwork, they were shocked to find only an empty noose dangling over dark waters.

The panicked Klansmen searched the area unsuccessfully before rushing to the family’s home, setting it on fire with the Goatman’s family shrieking inside, perhaps to bait a desperate rescue attempt by the vanished herder. The man was never seen again, they say, but a vengeful spirit has haunted the Old Alton Bridge ever since.

Legend has it that if you knock on the steel bridge three times at midnight or turn off your car’s headlights and honk three times you may receive a visit from the vengeful Goatman. If you smell decaying flesh, it’s already too late. 

Reports tell of burning red eyes from the darkness, eerie glimpses of a large snarling goat-headed man-beast stomping through wooded shadows, or a frightening apparition of a maniacal satyr carrying human heads in his hands.

The terrifying encounters and reported vanishings have been so frequent that numerous investigations by paranormal groups have been done. But as I said, there’s more than one version that attempts an explanation for a century of recurring frights and sights encountered at the bridge.

Some attribute the work of Satanists that opened a portal for a demon, while others say the Goatman’s wife is eternally searching for her murdered children.

Regardless of which tale is told, just know that knocking three times on the trusses of the bridge is an invitation to judgment. Goatman only spirits away those related to Klansmen or slaveowners his terrible revenge.

At night, visitors aboard the museum ship sometimes catch a glimpse of a shadowy figure wandering the corridors. This ghostly presence has been described as a sailor in a World War II-era uniform, his face bearing a mixture of determination and sadness.

Legend has it that this phantom was Lieutenant Charlie Dawson, a young naval aviator who had served aboard the USS Lexington during the pivotal Battle of the Coral Sea. During one fateful engagement, his aircraft was downed by enemy fire, and he was forced to bail out over the tumultuous waters below. Despite their best efforts, he was never found. Visitors claim that on nights when the sea breeze was especially cool and the moon's glow glimmered on the waves, Lieutenant Dawson's apparition would materialize. He would slowly walk the flight deck, and his distant gaze would fix upon the horizon. Some witnesses report hearing faint echoes of aircraft engines and distant gunfire as if the ship and its crew were replaying their struggles against the enemy.

One stormy evening, a troop of Girl Scouts spent the night aboard the Lexington. Armed with cameras and a mix of skepticism and excitement, they hoped to capture evidence of Lieutenant Dawson's ghostly presence. As the night went on, eerie creaks and moans resonated through the ship, playing tricks on their imagination.

In the early hours of the morning, the scouts huddled together in the ship's control room. Suddenly, the room grew icy cold, and a faint, ethereal light illuminated the corner. A figure gradually emerged from the shadows – a young man in a tattered flight suit. The friends held their breath as the apparition turned toward the window, staring out at the raging sea.

With nervous anticipation, they captured photograph after photograph, feeling as if they were glimpsing into a time long past. As dawn broke, the ghostly figure slowly dissipated, leaving behind an air of melancholy peace.

When the scouts reviewed their photographs, they were met with a mix of awe and disbelief. The images held an undeniable presence – a figure in a flight suit, bathed in an otherworldly light. While some skeptics dismissed the images as mere tricks of light and shadow, others felt that they had witnessed a connection to a history that refused to be forgotten.

And so, the tale of Lieutenant Charlie Dawson and his eternal vigil aboard the USS Lexington continues to be whispered among visitors and staff alike. In the quiet moments of the night, when the sea is calm and the wind carries distant echoes, the Blue Ghost lives on, reminding all who tread her decks of the sacrifices made and the stories that linger in the spaces between reality and the unknown.

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Beneath the moon's pale, haunting glow,

In the depths where shadows grow,

A chilling tale begins to weave,

A world where terrors never leave.

A graveyard whispers secrets dread,

The silence of the restless dead,

Mist curls around each ancient stone,

In the night, you're never alone.

From the depths of the abyss,

Echoes of the lost souls' hiss,

In the forest, dense and deep,

Horrors in their silence creep.

A phantom hand, a ghostly wail,

Through the darkest, twisted trail,

Eyes that pierce the soul with fright,

Evil lurking in the night.

Creaking floors and moaning doors,

Footsteps on the cold, dank floors,

A phantom figure in the hall,

Fear's icy fingers start to crawl.

In the attic, whispers grow,

Secrets from long, long ago,

Shadows dance in eerie rhyme,

In this nightmare, lost in time.

So, lock your doors, and dim the light,

Brace yourself for the endless night,

For in the realm of eerie dread,

Lurks the horror that lies ahead.