GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN

Revision of a tale I wrote about man in the 19th Century disappears in the Appalachian foothills based on a rumored story that happened in Tennessee in the year mentioned.

GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN

By R. A. Merritt

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  It would be a casual day for Francis Milligan, a day of relaxation and commiseration with his dog Ring a Beagle Hound with such a pronounced tenor to his bark that he was distinguishable from all the other dogs in this neck of the woods and of which there were many in that there were quite a few homesteads near about the foothills of the Appalachians.

The dog would begin to bark and you could hear him throughout the region and know too that if he had alighted upon some prey or other creature he was won't to pursue then that animal was as good as done if Francis went in their wake shotgun at the ready to dispatch, say a hapless rabbit or squirrel or other small animal that had the misfortune of the Beagle's keen nose set upon it's odor.  

Francis had eaten his last meal at home with his wife Arletta and their two small ones Francis Junior and little Jeannie before he bid them goodbye on that early August morning in 1887. 

He kissed Arletta on the cheek as he went into the yard and patted the children on the top of their heads before moving on across the rutted dirt road to the wooden railing that was set off from the road which went past their house.

           He whistled quite loud in that way he could do, piercing his lips together and seemingly spitting out the most intense whistle a human body was capable of making.  When he did this 

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Ring emerged from under the front porch where he had sought shelter and shade from the intense heat of the August sun. 

Francis was sans shotgun this day knowing much of the small game they generally took were not desirable at this time of year because of a number of conditions that might befall them in such heat. They might stumble upon some rabbit, or other such thing, but to make a meal of them would be unwise and perhaps subjecting themselves to some malady the animal was transmitting in its blood. 

They could still delight in cornering it should Ring construe their presence. They could at least run some hare into a hollow log or force the squirrels into their nests within the foliage of the trees that stood in great abundance beyond the tree line he could see several hundred yards to the west of his property.

           As he prepared to scale the fence and cross over the large field in front of him and before the woods and the dog maneuvered his body beneath the lower rail they saw the approach of a wagon coming up the road from the south and which led to the nearby village of Anson that sat at the foot of this small portion of the Great Smokey Mountains. He halted as Ring awaited him on the other side of the fence.

           Francis waved at the man who was driving the two mules that pulled the wagon, an old and faded green affair that had seen better years and would fall apart if put under enough strain. 

Moving back toward the road he stood there to greet the Reverend Uriah Peale who was the local minister at the Anson First Baptist Church in the nearby village with the same name. As 

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the wagon came up the mules holding their heads down wearily, Peale returned the wave and called out to him and the rest of his family that had made their way from the porch and on down to the road to add their salutations to those Francis would dispense to the preacher.

           Bending down Francis seeing Ring had rejoined him he patted the top of dog's head and rubbed at his floppy and unusually large ears, even for a Beagle Hound, he called to Peale. Ring’s ears made him almost look like a Basset Hound.

"Reverend what brings you to this neck of the woods?" he asked.

The reverend was dressed in his Sunday best unique at this the beginning of the week. Generally you didn't see Peale dressed so formally on a Monday. He was a preacher on Sunday's and most times dressed in that manner only on the weekends and only on a Sunday when he would be delivering the Gospel. Otherwise he would be dressed as the layman he was and in a way that bespoke his other occupation that of a small farmer like Francis was.

           The minster had his straw hat off and wiping at his brow with the back of his hand in order to diminish the perspiration that was already assaulting his eyes though still quite early in the morning.

"Mornin' Francis, mornin' family." Peale said in response.

The others greeted him as he brought the two blubbering mules to a halt indicating the irritation they felt at having to stop still again.

"I'm headed over to the Mantle place this mornin'--seems Gerome has disappeared or ran off according to his Missus." he said.

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"Gerome wouldn't run off." Francis said certain of that fact because of his knowledge of the man.  “Don't expect he would, but Matilda seems to think he did, or he's ran afoul of someone or something." the preacher now stated.

"This is the first I've heard of it--Matilda hasn't bothered to tell us the first thing about it." Francis said looking at his own wife inquisitively as if she may know something about it, more so than he, that perhaps Matilda had shared the information with her on some day he had been absent or working the fields out of her earshot.

"I ain't heard nuthin' Francis--I don't get to see Matilda that often with all them younguns of her's she doesn't manage to get away from there that often. And you know for sure I ain't goin' to absent myself from here away from our own chillren." Arletta said.  "I ain't seen her pass by either--you'd think she would've said somethin' if she had passed by. There's no way she could have got past without one of us seein' her or ole Ring lettin' us know someone was about." she said further.

"That's probably because she didn't go past. Old Harlan Rumble was the one who told me--said she asked for me to head up that way and see what I could do. But you know all I can do is relate the word of God to her and offer my prayers. I'm a man of the cloth, but that don't cut no slack with the Lord beyond me offerin' her His compassion in such matters. I'm not like those flatlander preachers running around layin' hands on people claiming the Lord has seen fit to let them perform miracles like his own Blessed Son." said Reverend Peale.  "Hell I saw ole Harlan when he went by yesterday. He didn't mention the first thing about it to me though." Francis remembered.

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The reverend returned his hat to his head now.  "Well that could be because he disappeared out there on your land Francis--like they may well suspect you had somethin' to do with his missin'.  But if that's true she's loath to tell you such a thing. I'm going up there before they have the Sheriff and some of his people up here ah snooping around in your business." the minister now informed him.

“Like I had somethin' to do with it?" Francis erupted.

"Just what in the hell, pardon my French reverend, does that mean?" Francis demanded to know.  "I'd like to hear that myself preacher--my Francis is a god fearing man who ain't never done anything agin the law unless it's ah fixin' up that old still he sometimes gets cranked up." Arletta said adding her two cents to the conversation.

"I'm sure they don't mean nuthin' by it, likely Harlan told 'em it's best not to bring it up to you since he and Harlan himself was trespassin' on your digs in the first place. And too not wishin' to alarm you about that patch of trees out there. You know where those dogs disappeared one time.  You yourself said it's a spooked bit of land." the preacher said then.

           Francis turned now and pointed to the lay of trees that grew in a circular pattern in the field he was, prior to this interruption, intent to enter onto on his journey to the expanse of woods some fifty yards beyond that growth of thick trees. 

He had always considered that spot somehow tainted that one was not to enter into it because if they did so there was no guarantee that you could get out like those damn dogs who disappeared in there as they left the hunting party that had brought them here.

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           The minister stood up in front of the buckboard he was sitting on and pointed himself. "How come you ain't never cut them damn things down Francis?" he asked now.  

"What am I goin' to use preacher a damn ax? I'd be at it for a real long time--and frankly I gotta tell you that I don't trust them damn trees. They wuz here when I bought this place and the owner told me then they wuz spooked that nuthin' bothers them trees and they never lose their damn leaves even in the fall or any such thing as that. They don't even change colors. See--see how damn green they are even now? And you know...." he said leaning in as if relating a secret that he didn't wish his wife and two children to be privy to.  "...I hear them dogs sometimes...even now and it's been a couple of years since then....I hear 'em moanin' and whinin' carryin' on like they're in misery, like they know they's lost and yet cain't get out of them woods. Like them woods is another place like that place the Papists believe in if they don't think you're quite ready to be with the Lord yet." he whispered.

"Maybe you could get one of them lumber companies that's all over these mountains to git down this way and remove 'em." the preacher suggested now.

"I would, but I talked to one of 'em once and he said it wouldn't be worth it. But you know he said it in a way that indicated to me he'd heard about them trees before--like he weren't interested in ‘em for a reason." Francis informed him.

           The preacher sat back down on the buckboard and prepared to cluck his team of mules on toward the Mantle homestead that was maybe five and a half miles on up the road from this place as the crow flies.  "You can tell her I'm aware of it then preacher, and assure her that I ain't had 

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nuthin' to do with Gerome's disappearin' and that I certainly don't think he's run off or anything of that nature either.   If I'd known that I would have put some questions to Harlan on his return trip." he said then.  "I'll sure do it." the preacher said now and making a gitty up noise to the mules urged them on in the direction he was meant to go on the road red with clay and having clumps of weeds growing in various spots along it's worn path. As the mules trundled off seemingly as weary as they were when arriving Francis added another request.

"Listen should you run up on ole Harlan tell him to come down this way and tell me what he knows?" the minister turned in the seat and waving said.

"I'll sure do it Francis, but as far as I know he said they wuz chasing a coon and it went in them woods. Well he said Gerome went in there and never came out. He called to him and sez he thought he heard his voice. And yet he sez he never came out." the preacher said with a final wave.

           Arletta and the children joined Francis in the road now and standing there silently watched the preacher continue on for several moments. Turning now Francis encouraged the children back into the yard.  "After y'all finish your chores you can play as long as you like." he told them.

"Okay daddy." the two of them said in unison.

When they were out of earshot he looked at his wife.  "I don't trust that damn Harlan you know--whose to say he didn't have somethin' to do with Gerome's disappearin'--the way he's always eyein' Matilda." he intimated.

"Good Lord Francis do ya think he'd do something like that--I mean the woman has six children and I don't s'pose she'd start batching with him with so many head runnin' around. And do you 

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think them two older boys would put up with him ah beatin' and bangin' on their mama the way he did to that wife of his?" Arletta said. 

"That's why she ran off." she added.

"That would only mean he wouldn't be ah beatin' and bangin' on them the way Gerome did." Francis said in response.

"Shoot them boys need that some time." Arletta suggested.

"So does our boy sometimes but I can just imagine what you would say if I started ah doin' it." Francis said in retort.

"Well what you goin' to do--you intend to go moseying through the woods with that dog now?" she then asked her husband.

"Hell no I reckon not--I'm goin' to go out there and see what I can see. I never cleared them trees because of the mystery surrounding them. And now it's not just some damn mutts that ain't mine lost but a neighbor. And you can bet for sure someone is goin' to keep pushin' the damn rumor that I did somethin' to him for trespassin' on our land." he proposed.  

"That ain't goin' to mean a damn thing without some evidence showing you did somethin' to him." Arletta said.

"Hell darlin' the accusation is almost as bad as being guilty sometimes." he pointed out.

"I never knew you didn't want to plant there because of some myth about those trees."

"What wuz I goin' to say--them trees is spooked and we cain't plant there. You'd ah maybe wanted to have me hauled off to the crazy house or something such as that." he laughed.  

"Oh I know you're crazy man, but you are my crazy man." she said placing a hand on his shoulder 

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in a gentle way.

           He looked at her now with equal gentleness. "I'll accept that woman--that's about as much as I could ask." he said his smile broadening. He then looked over to the Beagle Ring and coaxed him over. Ring came over obediently and nuzzled the hand Francis was offering him.  "Me and you are goin' out there and see what we can see boy." he told the dog who looked at him with an inquisitive look on his face.

"Don't you go in them damn trees." Arletta cautioned.

"You can count on that--you know one time me and Ring were after some venison once--I didn't tell you about it at the time because it gave me a start, but the deer we wuz after well it stopped short of them trees and just stood there lookin' at me ah waitin' for the death shot. It was so queer you know I let the damn thing run off toward the forest beyond. You should have seen the look in it's eyes when I gave it some sway and allowed it to go there instead of those nearby trees.  I swear woman it was a look of gratefulness--like the look of the deliverance. 'Course ole Ring here gave chase and the deer soon forgot his appreciation and showed us his backside until he got to those other woods."

           Francis now made his way back to the yard and picked up a shovel he had leaning against the porch.  "What ya goin' to do with that?" his wife asked him.

"Well if worse comes to worse I'm goin' set them damn trees on fire. The wind ain't up and if I dig around it wide enough I can stop it from jumpin', you know a firebreak like those flatlanders do when they git up this way to fight wildfires." he told her.

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"Hell best you git some help doin' that." she said turning to the sight of her son and daughter who were headed to the rear of the house.

Junior come on over here." she said waving to the attentive boy.

"Yessum." he said to his mother and then made his way toward his parents.

"Grab that other shovel boy." Francis senior told him.

"Yes sir." the boy replied doing as ordered. 

He picked up the other shovel that was partially beneath the porch. He now came over holding the utensil next to him revealing that it was taller than him by a foot.

"What are we goin' to do daddy?" his namesake asked.

"We goin' to go out there and see what we can see son.  If we can maybe figger out what happen to Gerome Mantle." his father told him.

"What we goin' to do with these shovels?" he asked.  

"You know what a firebreak is don't you?" he asked the boy.  

"Yes sir." he replied.  

           They didn't see Jeannie as she came up behind everybody.  

"Can I come along too?" she asked.  

They all turned to her and when they did Francis said.  

"You goin' to pay attention--you goin' to stay out of them woods?" he asked.

"Yes daddy--I'll do whatever you say." she said with conviction.  

           Arletta stood there on the porch and watched them overcome the obstacle of the fence and 

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move off over the barren field that was now overgrown with dry grass and weedy undergrowth, which is how it got after the corn that had been planted there this year had been harvested and the stalks churned up with a plow.  

           It was a large expanse of earth and the small growth of trees that stood almost in the very middle of it didn't seem so daunting from this distance.  She stood there until feeling the lure of the house and the need to prepare their next meal.  She had a pot of dry Lima's on the wood stove and figured they likely were by now needing to have some water added to the pot to prevent the beans from burning and giving them the wretched taste they took on once they had been scorched and began clinging to the bottom of the pot like some horrible parasites attached to a host.  

It was her children yelling to high heaven that brought her away from her domestic duties.  "Mama--mama--mama!" they were screaming as they ran up and eagerly crawled between some of the rails of the fence.  

She could hear them even with the door closed.  She tossed aside the apron she had just removed and made her way to the porch.  She stood there watching their approach as well as looking across the field.  There was a fire in the woods where they had been, but no sign of her husband or the dog Ring for that matter.  

"What's wrong children--what's wrong?" she asked the children as they made their way across the dirt road.  "Mama--mama, daddy went in those woods--he went in there and he cain't get out.  He cain't get out even though he see's the light and us." they were saying.  "What do you mean--why in the hell would he go in there when I damn sure asked him not to?"  Arletta said her anger 

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taking hold.  

"He wasn't goin' to until Ring ran in there--he ran in there and daddy was tryin' to get him out." Francis junior told her.  

"That damn dog--why'd he go in there?" she asked.  

"Well they wuz buring the woods and daddy and him got real close to the edge.  Daddy was setting it on fire there when Ring heard something--he heard something that caused him to go in there and mama--mama daddy went in after him 'fore we knew it."   

"What in the hell did he hear--what could've made that damn dog go in there?" 

"It was the sound of dogs mama--dogs that got real excited when they got close to them trees.  Well before you know it that dog went in after 'em--I guess he wanted to chase 'em or something or doin' what a dog does."

"And then your daddy--why in the hell did he go in there?" she asked her children now. 

"He was worried Ring wouldn't get out mama--he said he might not be able to get out if'n he didn't go in after him." the little girl cried.  

"And now he cain't get out.  We went all the way around them trees and you can hear them for sure--them and those other dogs.  And that ain't all mama--that ain't all of it for sure."  Francis junior said then. 

"What--what you mean boy?" she asked her son.  

"We heard Mr. Mantle too--we heard him and some other folks.  And they all sayin' the same thing--that they cain't get out no matter what they try.  They start walking toward us, but they never get there.  Daddy says it's hard to explain, but he's going to keep tryin', but now they're in 

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there and it's on fire.  If they cain't get out I'm afraid they'll burn up in there."

 

EXCERPT FROM THE JOHNSON CITY TRIBUNE, JOHNSON CITY, TENNNESSEE DATED FEBRUARY 10, 1908:

           The fugitive Jethro Colter fled into a small growth of trees that have apparently been a prominent feature on that portion of the Milligan property for some years now.  But the posse who were in pursuit of Mr. Colter was refused entry into there by the owner Francis Milliagan junior who held a weapon on the Sheriff and demanded the others absent themselves from said property.  Later in the day the Sheriff was released by Milligan and when questioned about the incident Sheriff Wendale refused to comment or press charges against Mr. Milligan.  Nor did the Sheriff seem concerned that Colter was still at large.  

"There's any number of people in them woods.  People and dogs and all sorts of other animals.  I even spoke with Mr. Milligan's father.  He's in there with his dog and he sez they ain't no older than the day they went in there.  Oh and that fire they set back then--well it went out.  Goes out every time you start one.  It'll burn for a bit, but then like some sign from God it goes out.  There ain't no food or water in there either.

           But for the love of Jesus Mr. Milligan sez they don't have any need for it--none of it--they never get hungry or feel the need to drink water at all.  And he sez that they've ran up on those other folks on occasion and it's the same thing with them 'ceptin' they're all pretty crazy by now.  As to that Colter feller I’m sure he wishes he hadn't ever ran in there now--I think it’s safe to presume he's in the same boat as the rest of 'em." the retired lawman now told the science writer.  

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           The young man was writing furtively using the shorthand he'd taken in high school because he thought it would be a good idea for a man to know it especially if he had ambitions of writing for a living one day.  Done he put the pen aside and read a portion of what the former Sheriff had told him. 

"How long ago was this Sheriff?" he asked.  

           The Sheriff looked up now as if priming his memory banks.  He looked down at the writer seemingly having a question for him now.  

"What year is it now son--I get a little confused in my old age?" he was saying.  

"It's 1955 Sheriff December 12, 1955." the writer told him then.  

"Well now all this s**t with the fugitive took place around 1908, but I cain't tell you when Mr. Milligan senior disappeared--some years before that accordin' to his son." the Sheriff said and began totaling up the years he was aware of in his head.  But before he reached a conclusion the young writer had arrived at the answer.  

"forty seven years Sheriff--it was forty seven years ago.  But I've got to tell you it sounds pretty far fetched--very hard to believe." he said.

"I know that young man--why in the hell do you think I've waited this long before I told anyone about it, most especially someone like you.  They would've took my damn job and sent me off to the damn funny farm.  But I contacted you people 'cos I figered you'd be interested and possibly want to print the story and expose it to the public.  It is a science journal ain't it?"  

"Yes sir but..." 

"But nuthin' son--I ain't ah pullin' your damn leg not for that piddlin' little bit of money you done 

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give me." the Sheriff said raising his voice.  

"Yes sir, but then again...." 

"I know boy--I know it sounds like some crackpot story, but listen to this.  I anticipated you'd have such an reaction so's just for my own well being I went up there on my own.  I had to anyway 'cos Milligan Junior the son he's dead now and I wanted to make sure he hadn't pulled a fast one on me ya know--to make sure it wasn't just some joke he was pullin' on me throwin' his voice like them---like them ah...whatcha call em' ventriloquist fellers can do.  Hell and I'll take you up there  right now if you'd like, if'n we can get past those guards his younguns have posted up there.  You can see for your own satisfaction that I ain't tryin' to hoax you up." 

"Well that sounds reasonable, but what's the urgency?" the reporter asked.

"Let me finish will ya?" the older man demanded.  

"By all means."

"Well like I sez I went up there on my lonesome--I went up there and over to them woods and by god when I called out his name, Mr. Milligan senior, that is, he spoke right up.  He spoke right up and told me everything, told me about himself, his dog and all the others in there.  The rest of 'em are mad as hatters by now, but him he don't sound to worse for wear.  He sez he thinks it's all made his dog go crazy too, if such is possible without it gettin' bit by some damn coon with the rabies.  But the strangest thing is they can't die, he sez they've all tried it at one time or another.  He said he had a pocket knife on him when he went in there and he's not only slashed his wrists with it, but plunged the damn thing into his own heart.  He said after he did it he laid down and waited for the inevitable, but it never came.  That eventually he would fall asleep and the next 

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morning it would be all healed like he hadn't done the first thing to himself.  It's damn mind boggling.  But now it's worse than that--his grandchildren damn ungrateful sorts want to sell the damn place.  They want to sell it to some company that wants to build some kind of entertainment complex for people headed to Nashville and the Opry.  But if they put something out there in that section of the place it's gonna cause a hell of a problem.  Can you imagine some children disappearin' and the uproar that would generate around these parts?  Especially if their folks are still able to hear 'em?"  

"Yes sir I sure can." said the writer.  

"Well what do you think then, what in hell could this all be about--is that land spooked like they say or is there a scientic explanation to it?"  

           The writer placed his note pad on the coffee table before him and his pen on top of it.  "Well sir tell me have you ever heard of the other world theory--parallel worlds if you will?" he asked.  "Well cain't say that I have, but I'm all ears." Wendale replied.  

"Well sir there is a hypothesis among some physicists that this isn't the only world, the only earth if you please...." he began.

Author's Note

I first read about this rumored story in the "Book of Lists" some years ago. Turns out it was nothing but rural legend based on nothing but superstition. But after I read about it I thought of the possibility of other worlds and dimensions and from that conceived of this story.