Chapter One

(Mid-June 1976)

“You’re not my daddy are you?”  As soon as Remy asked the question he had regrets.  There was no immediate response.  The man he’d called Daddy all his life didn’t even look up at the question focusing instead on the hook he was baiting. 

     Finally, he replied, “What makes you ask that question?”

     “You’re big as a house, I’m scrawny.  My hair is blond and yours is black as night, same as mom.  You both tan in the summer as though you were made for the desert, and I’m white as a sheet.  You both have brown eyes and mine are green.  My nose is unusual, my mouth is shaped different, and I have big ears.  All that, and somehow, I’ve just always known.  You know, like how the cows know your voice and they come runnin’ when you call.  I feel like I’m not in the pasture I started in.  There was another voice once.  That make sense?”

     “Everything makes sense when you’re honest with yourself Rem.  But, I’m not sure I understand where you’re coming from with all these assumptions.  We’re all different son.  I wasn’t real big till I started growing, and my Granddaddy Pevy had blond hair and green eyes.  Sometimes those things jump a generation or two.  You’ll probably grow into those ears, and the rest of it is just where the good Lord likes to vary us one from another.  There are a lot of people on the earth and no two are alike.  Now that takes a lot of creativity.  Don’t you think?”

     James Candon let go of the baited hook and the line swung over the slow moving water.  He eased the rod back, careful not to catch any branches, and smoothly set the hook sail.  It landed perfectly at the end of the last small rapid that dumped into the large slow moving pool known as the “fishin’ hole”.  The line traced the movement of the water then settled as the bait found the bottom.  Big Jim as people called him took his seat on an old oak log where his son Remy was already perched, hands steady on his rod, he watched his line closely. 

     “Grandpaw just treats Perry different than me, I guess that’s all.” 

     “Yeah, well Grandpaw treated your uncle John and Ted differently than each other and certainly different than he treated me.  Your Grandpaw loves you the same, but he treats you different than your little brother Perry.  He doesn’t treat anyone the same.  You’ll learn that real quick as you get older.”

     “I suppose so.”  Remy still had doubts about a lot of things.  A nine year old mind could wander and wonder.  His Dad’s explanations were solid and hard not to believe, but still there was a strange sense of some sort that ate at him deep inside.  Like the voice of an imaginary friend it told Remy things weren’t as they appeared.

     The Candon’s lived on rural highway six in the mountains of Trent county, Tennessee.  The highway dissected their property which spanned a valley from Parson’s Ridge to the south, to Rocky Ridge to the north.  There were 200 acres of land, give or take a couple that changed virtually every time the land was surveyed.  Matter of fact, the last time the land was surveyed when old man Wilson sold his adjoining property to Clint and Amy Mercer, a four acre tract of land was discovered that had never been owned up on the Rocky Ridge side.  The Mercers and the Candon’s split the land and that was that. 

     The Candon’s were cattle farmers and saw mill operators.  The saw mill was right on highway six just west of the driveway that led to both Jacob and Polly Candon’s house and James and Marsha’s.  Grandpaw Jacob’s house was very near the road up a sharp embankment, which was the devil to mow, and Jacob Candon required the grass to be preened all the way to the highway.  Above Grandpaw’s house the driveway wound through a vast pasture with plenty of cattle on both sides.  Remy’s house was built by his Dad and Grandpaw in the edge of the woods at the top of the pasture from planks they had cut from trees from Rocky Ridge.  They were from a grove of some of the finest maple, oak, walnut, and hickory that could be found in East Tennessee.  On the other side of highway six was Spencer’s Creek.  It stayed near the road, but across from the driveway it veered away from the road around Bobbits Knob, which was a high hill in the middle of the valley covered in timber.  Most highways follow old roads near creeks, but Bobbits Knob was a chunk of rocky land that road builders couldn’t or wouldn’t battle.  When Spencer’s Creek had completed a circuit around the Knob it again found highway six across from the entrance to the Candon Saw Mill.  Also at this point across the creek was Willow Swamp, designated as such by a huge Willow tree that stood in the bend of the creek where the water stopped flowing north and turned to the west with Bobbits Knob having been circumnavigated. 

     Jacob insisted the swamp was the most useless piece of property they owned.  Polly, or Grandmaw as she was affectionately known, held firmly to a belief that the swamp was haunted.  On quiet nights after evening rains, some very unusual sounds could be heard from the swamp, but no one would discus them.  Remy just stayed clear of the swamp, day or night it didn’t matter.  He could almost feel a presence there- something ominous, dark, and foreboding. This was the Candon’s property, tucked between the neighbors of Clint and Amy Mercer to the west down the creek, and Walter and Bess Hudson to the east up the creek.  It was home to Remy Candon, and he loved it, well – except for the swamp.      

     The family’s favorite fishing hole was just before Spencer’s Creek started around Bobbits Knob.  The steep cascade of water from the Hudson’s property pooled in the bend and the fishing was always good.  Sometimes the creek was stocked with trout at this hole, and sometimes up the creek, but Remy thought that no matter where trout were put in they found their way to his fishing hole.  It was also deep enough to swim in if the fish weren’t biting or if the weather was too hot.

     The conversation with his Dad had all but stopped and things were quiet. “You guys catching anything?” The voice came from the highway above.

     “Nope, not today,” replied Remy looking up and seeing Jack Mercer, his best friend in the world. 

     “Howdy Jack, did you bring your pole?” Big Jim asked.

     “Nah, I was just lookin’ to see if Remy wanted to toss some ball.”

     “Probably just as well, ain’t nothin’ bitin’.  Why don’t you run on with Jack and I’ll take your pole home.”  Remy reeled in his line and the naked hook now without bait.  He gave his pole to his Dad, and then scrambled up the trail to the road.  The two boys started down highway six to Jack’s house talking about things boys talk about – ball, fishing, hunting, and even a word or two about girls. 

     Jack was the same age as Remy, born exactly one week prior at the same hospital in Johnson City.  Jack was a strapping lad who stood a head taller than Remy and weighed significantly more.  He played every sport, meaning basketball, football and baseball, and he was the best player on his team in each of those sports.  He loved to compete, but more he loved to win.  Trent county was a football county to the core and the head football coach at Trent High School, Moss Wedman, had already been to the Mercer’s house for dinner – several times. 

     Behind the Mercer’s house was a huge back yard that snuggled up to a hay field.  A favorite activity for Jack and Remy was playing a baseball game they had concocted.  First, each picked a team from the most recent baseball card season.  Jack always bought the whole box, so there were very few players he didn’t have.  Once a team was selected the two took turns pitching to one another.  The arc of the hay field and back yard border made for a perfect ball park and even after the hayfield was cut the grass was still a couple inches higher.  Down the leftfield line the distance was nearly 200’, 215’ to the power ally in left, 225’ to straight away centerfield, 205’ to the ally in right and then right down the rightfield line the distance narrowed to only about 150’.  It was the short porch of the field.  Anything in the grass was a homerun, and frankly the only shot Remy ever had at a homerun was right down the rightfield line.  This had made him very effective at going the opposite way as a little leaguer. Cones were placed in areas where hits could be tallied (Jack’s Dad owned a construction company so there were plenty of cones at their disposal) and the higher the average the closer you could come to the cones and still count as a hit.  This rule was Remy’s salvation.  He would pick the highest batting averages he could find to be able to stay in the game.  Jack could pick anyone really, for even a struggling second baseman hitting only .176 with only one home run for the season had a chance to reach the tall grass with Jack batting.  Even though Jack liked to win more than anything, he didn’t like to beat his buddy, which he could do at will any time.  So, he hit lefty a lot and didn’t pitch like he could all the time.  Remarkably, each game was always close.  Remy wasn’t ignorant to what was going on, and that made him admire his good friend even more. 

     The game was tied 3-3 in the bottom of the fourth with George Brett up to bat when Remy noticed someone sitting on the upper slopes of the hayfield just below the tree-line.  “Is that Johnny Hudson?” he asked.

     “Probably, let’s go see,” Jack replied tossing his glove to the ground.

     Johnny Hudson was the only son of Walter and Bess Hudson, who were childless for the first twenty years of their marriage. Then, on a cold April day when Walter was 43 and Bess was 40, Johnny was born.  He was a year older than both Remy and Jack, but he failed the third grade.  He didn’t play any sports, and just wasn’t like everyone else.  He stood a good two inches taller than Jack, every bit as thick, and had these steely gray eyes that Remy thought made him look evil.  Jack was fascinated by Johnny and always liked to talk with him if he came around, which was rare. 

     As Remy and Jack neared the figure in the field it became clear that it was Johnny Hudson.  He didn’t smile or acknowledge their approach in any way, shape, or form.

     “Hey, Johnny,” Jack said.

     “Hey,” came the reply.  Johnny sat staring into the distance and made no eye contact.

     “What’ya doin’?” Jack asked.

     “Studyin’ the Willow Swamp.”

     Jack followed Johnny’s gaze and asked, “Why?  That place is creepy.”

     “Exactly,” Johnny quickly shot back. Remy didn’t like the conversation.  The Willow Swamp frightened him to the core and Johnny scared him about as bad.  Put the two together and Remy was ready to exit the situation.

     Johnny had walked to the top of Rocky Ridge and around the Candon’s property.  It was the best vantage point with Bobbit’s Knob not in the way like it was from Remy’s house.  Johnny confessed that the vantage point was perfect; he could see nearly the entire swamp.  Remy wanted to ask what the point in surveillance was, but he was too scared to ask.

     “Do you think the swamp is haunted, Jack?”  Johnny broke his gaze from the swamp and looked Jack in the eyes.

     “No. I don’t believe in haunts, ghosts, or the like.”

     “What do you make of the sounds?”  When Johnny asked the question Remy had a chill that ran up his spine.  His family didn’t talk about whatever it was, so in his mind the haunts were more real than unreal.

     “Some bunch of wild animals is my guess.  Sounds like their fightin’ the few times I’ve heard it.”  Jack’s answer piqued Remy’s interest, maybe that was the real answer and there were no haunts.  His chill disappeared in the hope of Jack’s answer.”

     “No way Jack,” replied Johnny, “There are no animals that make that noise.  That noise is not of the earth.  It is from another world, a dark world, an evil world.”  Johnny’s voice had such conviction, Jack just nodded and let things be, no need in arguing.  Jack knew it was a waste of time arguing belief with anyone who really believes in something.  You’d have more luck taking a crayfish from a rabid raccoon. 

     Why did we ever leave the baseball game, Remy silently questioned.  Johnny was completely freaking him out and nightmares were sure to be a result of this encounter.  Just as they were about to leave, Johnny added more revelation about the swamp.

     “The Willow tree is like a gate, look.”  He pointed in the direction of the tree.  It was taller than the head high bushes and swamp grass.  Standing on the point of the bend of the creek, it looked so out of place it was hard to ignore.  The long willow fronds hung full about the tree seemingly shrouding some mystery.  “It is the gate to the swamp and beyond,” added Johnny.

     Jack listened then stated, “Why don’t we come up here at night the next time we have an evening rain and listen for whatever it is?  Maybe we’ll even see something.”

     “That’s a great idea,” remarked Johnny.  “You in Remy?”

     “Uh, sure, I guess so.”  Remy was far from sure, but his manhood as a nine year old was at stake.  He felt he had no choice, but be there.  I should have stayed with dad fishing in Spencer’s Creek, was what Remy really thought.  

Chapter Two

Summer vacation was always looked upon as the highlight of the year.  By the first of June, Jack and Remy were ready to be away from school awhile.  A few weeks later, little league baseball wound down and next came the blissful time period where there was nothing to do but play and fish.  However, Remy was expected to pitch-in at the saw mill, which Big Jim and Jacob ran everyday.  It was loud and dangerous, so Remy’s mom, Marsha, limited her son’s time there.  By eight in the morning Tommy Ferguson, the log truck driver, would have a load waiting to be unloaded.  By nine he was back on the road to get another load from the loggers, who Jacob subcontracted once he purchased timber on a property.

     Big Jim was considered one of the best log scalers around.  As soon as the load was rolled off the truck, he began to grade the logs and figure the volume. Most of the time Big Jim was very accurate with his assessment.  Remy’s job was to take a garden hose with high water pressure and spray off the logs.  As dirt caked in around the logs inevitably so would stones, and stones could ruin a saw.  “No saw, no saw mill,” Grandpaw Jacob would tell Remy. 

     After the logs were sprayed Big Jim would load them up on the carrier and Grandpaw Jacob would affix them for sawing.  The carrier was situated on rails and driven by a powerful Detroit diesel engine that belched smoke and could be heard for miles.  Jacob would shave the sides first creating side slabs with the bark still on, which occupied Remy removing as much of the bark as possible from the slabs by beating them with a small hammer.  Remy then stacked the slabs with no bark.   This was the job he hated the most, but at least once he had finished he was free to go.  He didn’t have to come back to do the second load, so usually he was finished by lunch. 

     Jacob was considered a master sawyer and he had figured out about every way possible to make money at his craft.  The lumber was sold to four or five different places ranging from furniture factories to lumber yards.  The slabs were sold as firewood to Clancy’s campground which came every month with two huge dump trucks and took full loads back down to the Smokey Mountains National Park.  Some local folks bought the slabs for firewood, but that was a tough sell in the wooded mountains of East Tennessee.  The saw dust was sold to a cattle market in Johnson City that had to change out saw dust every week for the barns so disease would not have a foothold.  The bark was all purchased by a man in Georgia who made potting soils and mulches.  Jacob was also known as the best hand to hammer a saw into balance in the area.  Folks came from Virginia, West Virginia, Kentucky, North and South Carolina, Georgia, and Alabama to have Jacob fine tune their saws to perfection as the heavy pieces of metal spun at insane speeds. 

     By 2pm the second load of logs from Tommy Ferguson were usually processed and the place cleaned ready for the next day.  Afterwards, Jacob and Big Jim would attend to other matters on the farm, mainly beef cattle.  It was a life that both men came to appreciate, father and son in business together – the masters of their days. They didn’t make a killing, but they didn’t want for money. 

     Three days after Jack, Johnny, and Remy had met in the top of the hay field there was an evening thunderstorm that swept in on the community of Spencer’s Creek and dumped rain for a solid hour.  Jack called at 8pm while it was still daylight as the rain had all but stopped. 

     “Remy, can you come over?  Johnny called and he rode his bike down.  We’re going to check out the swamp from up top of the hay field like we talked about.”  Jack’s voice had a ring of excitement.

     “I’ll be there,” Remy replied and hung up the phone.  He told his mom he was going down to Jack’s house and he quickly got on his bike to get there before dark.  Bounding down the drive to the highway Remy turned right heading to Jack’s house.  He peddled by Bobbits Knob and then passed the swamp.  He avoided looking that way.  After the swamp he turned right onto Jack’s drive and rode up the hill to his house.  Johnny and Jack were both waiting.  They had flashlights and immediately they set out for the top of the field. 

     The temperature had cooled after the storm, and there was no breeze to be found.  Crickets and Katydids held their songs and an eerie quiet descended upon the entire valley.  By the time the boys arrived at the top of the hay field darkness had enveloped the land except for the light of a full moon which now hung gigantic in a cloudless sky.  The ground was wet, but they set down anyway.  Johnny whispered they shouldn’t talk, so the three boys didn’t say a word listening to the night and any sign that something was going on across the road in the Willow Swamp. 

     After an hour, Remy said in a hushed voice, “I don’t think anything is gonna happen.”

     Johnny clicked on his flashlight and looked at his watch, “Little longer, let’s wait about 15 or 20 more minutes.”  They all agreed.

     The time ebbed slowly deeper into the night, and just before Remy was about to say he’d had enough, a lonesome wail came from the direction of the swamp.  It was abrupt leaving the boys wondering if they heard anything at all.  “Did you here that?” Jack asked.

     “Yes, shhhhhhhh”, Johnny chided.  There was another sound like a cry. It was low at first like a whimper then escalated to a near scream.  It sounded human.  Then there were more of the same.  This lasted only about ten seconds or so then silence returned and a breeze began to blow.  “It is over,” Johnny stated.

     “How do you know?” asked Jack.

     “They just wanted us to know they knew we were here.  Let’s ride our bikes down to the highway and see if we see anything,” Johnny said as he rose from his wet seat. 

     “Are you nuts?” Remy inquired.

     “C’mon, we’ll all be together.  What could happen?”  Jack was convincing, and added, “It was probably just some coons, skunks, or possums anyway, Remy.”

     They rode their bikes to the road and stopped on the highway across from the Willow tree.  The creek could now be heard as it gurgled by between them and the swamp. 

     “What is that?” Jack pointed over under the tree toward something grayish.  Something located under the tree was partially concealed by the willow branches.  It shown in the dark, slightly lighter than the night.  “Is that a rock?” Jack asked.

     “I’m not sure,” Johnny replied, “Remy, do you recall a rock under that tree?”

     “No, but I don’t make a regular practice of hanging out there.”

     “Look! It’s moving!” Johnny couldn’t contain his excitement.  At the sound of his voice the figure vanished as they craned their necks attempting to hear it run through the swamp.  There was no sound.

     “What was it?” Remy asked.

     “Possum for sure,” Jack remarked.

     “No way, it was one of them.” 

     “Who are they, Johnny?” asked Jack.

     “They are kids.  I don’t know who, but they are not of this world,” Johnny replied.

     “You are talking crazy.  A possum wouldn’t have made enough noise to hear over the creek and when you shouted anything would have bolted away – just like what we saw.  Besides, a possum is gray and most of the time can be seen on a night like this with a full moon.”  Jack’s explanation made sense, his logic was sound.  Remy wanted to believe it, but he was torn.

     “We need to campout on Bobbits Knob,” Johnny said.

     “Sure, why not,” Jack shot back, “Would your folks mind, Remy?”

     “No, we could do it, but why?”  Remy consented.

     Johnny turned and said, “We have to get a closer look at the swamp. They know we’re here, they’ll be expecting us.  You’ll see, Jack.”  And, with that Johnny left toward home.  Remy didn’t want to be far behind so he said good-bye to Jack and started toward home only a short distance behind Johnny.  He sped up the drive by his Grandpaw Jacob’s house and was huffing when he walked into the living room.

     “What’ya been up to with Jack?” Big Jim asked.

     “Oh, planning a campout with Jack and Johnny.  Would it be okay if we camped on Bobbits Knob?

     “Sure.”

     “Jim, I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Marsha said.  “Why don’t you boys camp in the woods up here closer to the house.”

     “The Knob is closer to the fishin’ hole, mom.”  Although this wasn’t the entire reason, it was true nonetheless.  Remy didn’t mention the swamp and his parents didn’t ask. 

Chapter Three

The next morning after the rain was Saturday, and the saw mill didn’t run on Saturday.  Remy found himself in his Grandpaw’s garden, and Jacob was in a foul mood.  The Yankees had been beaten by the Red Sox the night before 12-3.  It was more than a Yankee fan could take.  They picked corn, beans, cucumbers, and tomatoes while Marsha and Polly snapped beans and Big Jim fixed a section of fence that had been destroyed by a downed tree from last night’s storm.  Perry, who was only five, was with Big Jim.

     “Yanks got it handed to them pretty bad last night, huh Paw?” Remy said over the distant whine of Big Jim’s chain saw.

     “Martin is no manager and the new owner is a mad man.  It’s a wonder they win a single game.  Don’t miss those beans over there.” Jacob pointed to a spot that Remy had missed.  “What were you boys doin’ late last night?  I saw you come in flyin’ just after the Hudson boy flew by up the road.” 

     “What do you know about that old swamp, Paw?” Remy asked.

     “What’s to know?  I’d sell it tomorrow for a dollar an acre.”

     “You know, Maw says it is haunted and we heard some weird stuff last night.”

     “Your Maw says a lot of things, boy.  People have some inborn need to create things like haunts and spooks in the night.  I’m not sure why – maybe because we got nothin’ better to do, least that’s the case with your Maw most of the time.”  Jacob said this as he raised up from his picking arching his back.  The chain saw cut off replaced by the distinct sound of a sledge hammer pounding a fence post. 

     “So, you don’t think the swamp is haunted?”

     “Didn’t say that, boy, but I don’t think about such things, and neither should you boys.  Swamps are dangerous places even without spooks.  You best just let the place be and then one day we’ll get a bigger tractor with a back hoe and ditch the place dry.  That’s what I want to think about – no swamp.”

     Remy didn’t say a word.  He just thought about their land with no Willow Swamp.  The thought had never occurred to him, but he sure liked the thought.  It would be a perfect and flat place for a baseball field.

     After morning chores, Grandpaw took Perry and Remy to the fishing hole while Big Jim took Polly and Marsha into Johnson City for a myriad of things, some needed, some wanted, but all necessary.  The fish were biting even though Perry was throwing rocks in the water and the mid-day sun beat down with intense summer heat.  Jacob wiped his face with his handkerchief and stuffed it back in his overalls.  He looked over at Remy and said, “The Yankees need to hire Sparky Anderson.”

     “Ain’t gonna happen Paw.  Sparky’ll never leave my Reds.  You saw what they did to the Red Sox last year.  They’ll do it again.”  The Reds beat the Red Sox in the 1975 World Series 4 games to 3.  Remy watched every inning, some of them with his Grandpaw.  Jacob didn’t respond.  Perry had finally had enough and jumped in the water.  The splash and ensuing thrashing around drove every fish within a mile under a rock or on to the next hole of water.  Jacob and Remy reeled in their lines. 

     “I guess that’s that,” Jacob said.  He laid his reel on the bank and proceeded to wade around the shallow end of the hole to the other side.  “C’mon boys, we’re goin’ on a walk.”  Jacob was soon up the other side of the creek and off into the woods.  Get going or get left behind was a very real possibility for Remy and Perry, so they hustled up the bank in pursuit. 

     The south portion of the property was seldom visited by the family.  Occasionally, Jacob or Big Jim would walk it not really sure what they were doing other than just walking the property.  They had often thought of clearing some of the land for pasture, but the creek had proven to be a serious barrier.  Bridging the creek made sense, but the only logical place was the fishing hole and it was far from perfect.  Flooding was a real problem along the banks of Spencer’s Creek and Jacob didn’t like the thought of having to build a new bridge every few years as he had seen too many of his neighbors have to do.  Another logical place, which had not been discussed, was by the willow tree – if the swamp could be drained.  Flooding could be contained easier there and they’d have access to the south part of their property.  This was on Remy’s mind after the garden discussion of ditching the swamp.

     “There’s a lot of land over here Paw.  Why don’t we get that tractor and ditch that swamp.  That’s what I’d do.  I’d cut a lot of this timber too, it’s of size ain’t it?”  Remy waited for Jacob to respond.

     Jacob spit a four foot long stream of tobacco juice and said, “Reckon so.  Then what would you do?”

     “Build me a house over here and baseball field down where that swamp was.”

     “A baseball field?  What good would that do us?”

     “How else would Perry and me ever get good enough to play for the Reds?”

     “I play for the Yankees!” Perry shouted to the utter delight of Jacob who smiled for the first time all day. 

     “Well then Perry my boy,” Jacob said proudly, “We need to at least consider a baseball field.”  Perry beamed at the affirmation of his grandfather while Remy silently seethed at the change in attitude after Perry’s declaration.  It was more than he could stand.  The three journeyed on through the woods. Soon they were just across from Bobbits Knob on the slopes of Parsons Ridge.  The leaves of summer were full on the trees and only glimpses of the Knob could be seen here and there.  They continued until they came to the west border of their land and began to trek down toward the swamp. 

     The back of the swamp was nestled up to the slope off the ridge and pools of idle swamp water could be seen as they skirted the edge.  To Remy the swamp looked like a foreign wilderness filled with strange grasses, small bushes, boggy mud, and unkempt patches of vegetation that could conceal almost any animal.  It was easy to believe that Jack was right about animals being what they heard and what they saw.  As the land flattened the woods became sparse as they neared the creek until they finally came to a point where the swamp and creek nearly became one.  At that point they forded the creek to the Knob side and climbed the rocks that bordered that side of the creek.  They stopped for a moment atop a rather large rock that almost stuck back out over the creek probably ten feet off the water.  It offered an unparalleled view of the swamp.  Right away, Remy knew this would be a place that Johnny would have to see.  The swamp across the creek lay before him as though he was looking at a map.  The willow tree stood to his right and acres of bog in front of him.  It was perfect. 

     “It does favor the shape of a baseball field, don’t it?” Jacob reflected.

     “Home plate is the willow, but it must be 500’ to centerfield. We’ll never hit one outta here, Paw.”

     “I will,” Perry said with conviction.

     Jacob again smiled at the feisty attitude of Perry.  Then he fell quiet and Remy watched him closely.  Wheels were turning and the idea of ditching the worthless swamp was gaining traction.  He studied contours, angles, high spots, and low spots.  Jacob was  evaluating how he would attack, what equipment would be needed, and how he would succeed.  Remy knew right then and there, that his Grandpaw would figure it out just like he did everything else.  A baseball field was an unlikely result, but Remy knew the swamp’s days were numbered.  And, for the first time the strange presence was missing, the darkness absent, the ominous feeling could not be felt.  Remy stared at his Grandpaw Jacob, who was still deep in thought, and he felt safe with him as though nothing bad could happen.]

     “I’m tired Paw,” said Perry, and Jacob broke from his intense study.

     “Me too, boy.  Let’s get started for home.”   

The next day was Sunday, and church was the first order of business for the Candon family.  Big Jim always got up early went out on the back porch (weather permitting) and finished his Sunday School lesson.  Marsha got up and made breakfast for the family and it was the only morning all week that they didn’t eat both breakfast and dinner at Jacob and Polly’s house.  There was good reason for this because Jacob didn’t go to church.  Ten years ago the Spencer’s Creek Baptist church dropped the word “Independent” from their title as a church and joined the Southern Baptist Convention.  The day that decision was made was the last day Jacob’s shadow darkened the door of the small country church.  On Sunday mornings he got up and went to his “closet” as he called it, which was a small room in the attic of the home where he built a desk into the wall.  The space was off limits to everyone, and Jacob held up in the “closet” as long as everyone was at church.  He prayed, he studied, and he planned. Polly would make him breakfast and take it to him then she would retire to her reading chair where she ate and studied her bible until time for church.

     Remy and Perry were up right behind their dad turning on the TV and watching a fishing show that came on every Sunday morning.  The smell of eggs, bacon, sausage, and biscuits was always thick in the house.  Remy loved Sunday mornings.  After breakfast they would load up in the station wagon and pick up Polly, who would always be waiting outside on the front porch.  Remy and Perry had been instructed from the moment they could understand words that they were to never question or mention the fact that Grandpaw didn’t go to church.  This confused Remy because he knew his Grandpaw knew the Bible, he was forever quoting scripture, and he knew he professed belief in Christ.  Not being able to ask his Dad why Paw elected to not go to church allowed yet another mystery into his life.  He was beginning to think that everything was a mystery as what wasn’t appeared to be a shorter list. 

     Spencer’s Creek Baptist Church was perched atop a small grassy hill next to the creek.  Its white boards were painted fresh each year and the windows were framed with dark green shutters.  The steeple was the tallest in the county reaching to a dizzy height.  The bell rang every Sunday morning at 10am sharp.  It echoed through the valley – everyone would know when church was in session. 

      The pastor was David Densen, a tall lanky fellow who if he believed in facial hair would look just like Abraham Lincoln.  He had fingers as long as the hands of most folks.  He had wavy black hair he always combed back that refused to succumb to any graying.  Pastor Densen’s voice was load as thunder and he was animated never staying behind the pulpit, but walking all about the alter, down the aisle, and even out the front door on occasion.  He believed the door should never be shut to the church during services so for 20 years it remained open and no one challenged him.  If he made a point in the sermon and wanted the whole world to know, he merely walked outside the front door and announced it.  No matter where he wandered, you could always here him.  He condemned everything twice if he needed to, and most of his sermons centered on obedience.  Jacob told Remy once, “Pastor Densen has never heard of the word grace.”

     As they drove up, Pastor Densen was on the front steps welcoming as was his custom.  His voice was thundering, but a broad smile stretched across his heavily vertical face and he shook hands with all attending. 

     “Morning, Big Jim, Marsha…boys,” said the pastor shaking hands with Big Jim.  “Polly how’s Jacob doing?  We sure would love to see him back at church.”  Remy almost ran. He couldn’t believe the pastor had broached such an off-limits topic, especially in his and Perry’s presence. 

     “Good morning pastor,” Jim said shaking his hand.

     “Jacob is fine, David, but you know he doesn’t come to church anymore,” replied Polly with a touch of an accusatory tone.

     “Just let him know we miss him, Ms. Polly.”

     “Well, if you miss him pastor, you could come and visit him.”  With that Polly walked up the steps and into church leaving everyone else behind awash in the wake of an awkward moment to say the least.  

     “You know how things are David, best to let her be,” said Big Jim in a low and soft voice as Marsha ushered Remy and Perry away.  The pastor, his smile gone, nodded his head.  As the next person arrived the smile was back on display. 

     Betsy Millbridge came to the piano and began to play.  Her fingers moved about the keyboard with such skill, grace, and flair that people just stared while feet began to tap the hard wood floor.  Her older sister May Beth then joined her in song and everyone listen to a heartfelt rendition of Just a Closer Walk with Thee.  Afterwards the congregation was invited to stand and sing three hymns as was the tradition.  Glad Reunion Day, Rock of Ages, and Blessed Assurance, rang from the old church on the hill. The voices of the faithful could be heard loud and clear through the open door.

     Remy loved the smell of the old church.  It was like someone had spilled a bottle of Murphy’s Oil Soap on the floor and left it.  Genna Fry cleaned the church and Polly always said that she kept Murphy’s Oil Soap in business.  After the songs, there was a quiet that fell over the congregation as Jesse Masters eased out of his row and made his way up front.  He made announcements and made a few prayer requests known.  Then he invited the faithful to bow in prayer and Jesse took off praying as though he was right there in the garden with Jesus.  Remy would try his best to keep up with Mr. Jesse and pray, but his mind would wander and he would feel horrible about it.  He never opened his eyes for fear of getting caught.  He was certain that angels were circling and spiritual warfare was taking place.  Brother Jesse prayed for everything from the summer crops, to several who were sick, for the Jones family in the lost of their father, to the church, the offering, the kingdom, the blessing of being granted 200 years as a country the next month, on and on the prayer went.  When he said amen the pastor was already up front, which perplexed Remy because he wasn’t there when the prayer started.  As Jesse slowly made his way back to his pew, the pastor welcomed everyone and called the deacons to the front to pray again over the offering.  The pastor put his offering in first then the plates were distributed as Barney Wilson played He Lives on his guitar.  The pastor would receive several complaints (again) about a guitar, the devil’s instrument, being allowed in the church.  Poor old Barney would get the cold shoulder from the legalistic contingent within the church for several weeks.  It would be awhile before the pastor would relent to allow him to use the guitar again; such was the case in Spencer’s Creek Baptist Church.  

     After the collection and song the church was dismissed to Sunday School and then back for preaching in 45 minutes.  The sermon centered on the story of Daniel in the Lions den and the pastor made three points, which took one hour and fifteen minutes to communicate properly.  The three points were:  God is always with the faithful, doing right can cause you to wind up in a den of lions, and God is in control even when it looks like He is not.  Remy loved the sermon because he loved the story, hated lions, and Pastor Densen didn’t yell as much as normal.  It was a great morning at church.

     As soon as church ended the family quickly said their parting words and headed home.  Jacob would meet them at the highway and they would ride into Hydavale.

Chapter four

Hydavale was the count seat of Trent County.  Main Street stretched from one end to the other marked as the same highway six about three miles down the creek from the Candon’s place.  The high school was right across the road from a large oversized sign welcoming all travelers to Hydavale, Tennessee, The Heart of God’s Country.  The slogan was peculiar because across the road at the high school was the menacing statue of a Blue Devil, the Trent High mascot.  Reverend Denson organized a grass roots campaign to change the mascot from the Blue Devils five years earlier, but his efforts were widely opposed, even in his own church.  Trent County had been the Blue Devils for 40 years, they had a winning tradition, and the mascot was a large part of the mix including the statue which was erected in 1963 when the football team completed a second perfect season in a row and sixth state championship.  By 1976 they owned eleven total state titles and prospects were very good for championship number twelve in the fall.

     Main Street was lined with shops and stores all the way to the Courthouse which was the official end of town.  Two blocks down from the High School was Mommas Pantry.  The Candon’s ate there every Sunday after church.  Everything was served home style in bowls. You ordered your meat of choice, typically fried chicken or country style steak and gravy, and feasted till you couldn’t take in another bite.  Jacob always asked about the sermon and Big Jim would give him the basic summary of what Denson preached.  Polly would fill everyone in on the latest gossip and a steady stream of folks would stop by the table to say howdy.  In a small town everyone knows everyone and speaking is expected if not always looked forward to. 

     During church Johnny had mentioned the campout and wanted to go that night.  He said he would call Jack, who went to a Presbyterian church in town, as soon as Remy got the go-ahead.  Remy asked the question during lunch and received an okay.  Perry decided he wanted to go as well, but luckily for Remy, Marsha shot that down. 

     By the time the mashed potatoes, fried okra, corn on the cob, cole slaw and steamed cabbage arrived with the meat of choice, Grandpaw Jacob was itching to speak to Big Jim about his latest idea.

     “Jimbo, what’cha think about buying that new Ford tractor down at Homie’s in Johnson City?”

     “Why? Ours is fine. Besides, business has been a little slow.”

     “I know, but that’s when we need to be aggressive.  That tractor has a back hoe and front end loader attachment.  If we ditched the swamp and drained it – we could sell enough timber on the south portion to more than pay for the new Ford.  Maybe even buy another log truck, hire a few hands, and really have a go at this logging thing.”  Jacob watched his son.  Big Jim chewed his food slowly and took in what his father was saying.  He already knew this was not a conversation about what they should do - the decision had already been made. 

     Big Jim shook his head, “I don’t know, that’s a lot of money.”

     “Son, you gotta spend money to make money.  I walked the south property yesterday with Rem and Perry. It is loaded with prized timber in its prime right now.  The creek has always stopped us, but with the swamp drained, a bridge by the willow tree is doable, more than doable, especially with that Ford tractor.”  Remy listened intently as did the rest of the family.

     “How do you know the swamp can be so easily drained?” asked Big Jim.

     “I don’t,” replied Jacob, “So what?”

     “So, we spend a fortune for a new tractor and ruin it ditching the largest swamp in Trent County.  Then what?”

     “Why do you have to be so short-sighted?”  Jacob was getting testy and everyone knew it. 

     Then Polly said, “Jacob you don’t want to drain that swamp.  Bad things will happen.  It is as haunted as anything this side of North Carolina.  Do you remember what happened to Toony Burleson when he built that barn out of the Lockerford’s old haunted house?  It burned to the ground in one week.” 

     That pushed Jacob over the edge.  He dropped his fork loudly on his plate, which he’d hardly touched the food, and announced he was going for a walk.  He pushed his chair back and stormed out of Mommas Pantry. 

     When the family finished their meal close to an hour after Jacob walked out, Big Jim knew better than to go look for his father.  It took Jacob exactly 45 minutes to walk home from town, and he’d made the trek many times.

Bobbits Knob was an anomaly in the valley.  Parsons Ridge and Rocky Ridge were parallel to one another and the valley had very few geological landmarks from the head of the creek all the way to Hydavale.  Rising sharply from the valley floor, the Knob seemed out of place in the middle of the valley.  In 1972 a team from the United States Geological Survey thoroughly investigated the formation along with a contingent of anthropologists and archeologists from the University of Tennessee. The rumor was that they found some significant evidence that the formation wasn’t entirely a natural structure.  Evidently there was indication that a long lost indigenous culture had been responsible for some of the formation.  In May of 1973 a representative from the University showed up at Jacob’s door with a mound of paperwork.  They wanted to dig extensively and sought his permission.  Jacob would not sign even after he was offered a six figure sum for the rights.  He never mentioned a word about what was discussed, not to Polly, Big Jim, or anyone else.  He seemed perfectly willing to take the mystery to his grave without confiding in a single soul.  Polly had often said that Jacob William Candon was the most stubborn human being on the face of planet earth.

     When Remy returned with his family from Sunday afternoon lunch, the phone rang five minutes after he arrived.  It was Johnny who was all excited about the big camping trip that night.  They decided to do some fishing at the fishing hole in the afternoon and then camp at night. 

     Jack and Remy were already at the fishing hole when Johnny rode up on his bike.  He bounded down the trail with a pillow case full of stuff tossed over his back with one arm, and a sleeping bag under the other.

     “Where’s your pole?” asked Remy.

     “Didn’t bring it, I’m not much for fishing.  I’ll just hang out with you two.” 

     “Cool,” Jack replied.  “Do you have a plan tonight?”

     Johnny smiled, “Yeah, I think so, I just wonder about what to expect with no rain.  They’ll be expectin’ us, but I’m not sure how we’ll know they’re here.”

     “If they are expecting us and we’ve already seen whatever the gray thing was and we’ve heard whatever they are, why would tonight be any different? I’d expect that if they were gonna show themselves to us, then they’d just do it.”  As he said this Jack hooked a good sized trout and the conversation was interrupted.  The boys didn’t broach the subject again until the fishing was out of their system, and this appeared to be fine with Johnny. 

     At around 4pm they reeled in their lines.  Jack had a very nice hiking backpack with things tied all over it.  He looked like he was setting out for a summer-long hike.  Remy had his sleeping bag unrolled and crammed with all he could fit, mainly food. 

     “Is there a good spot for camping up on top, Remy?” asked Johnny.

     “Yeah, on the very top it is pretty level and not as thick with laurel and ivy.  There is a ton of dead wood lyin’ around for the fire.”  Remy led them to the upslope from the fishing trail and they began their ascent.  At first the going was slow as thick laurel mixed with mountain ivy impeded their progress.  They stopped often to catch their breath.  Finally the thick growth relented and became sparse as the forest was transformed to saplings and larger trees.  Old growth trees were hard to find the result of shallow dirt and rocky ground.  Outcroppings of rocks and boulders dotted the side of the Knob, but as they approached the top the terrain smoothed considerably.  On top of the Knob was a very nice spot where two fallen trees had created a “v” shape. 

     “These are perfect sittin’ logs,” said Remy.

     “Yep, this will do fine,” added Jack. 

     Johnny nodded his head then said, “Too bad it is not winter time then we could see the swamp from up here.”               

     “I got that covered,” said Remy.  “Put your stuff down and follow me, I’ve found a spot where we can survey the whole swamp from one spot.”  Johnny and Jack followed Remy down the other side to the Knob which looked nearly identical to the side they had just climbed.  As they neared the creek the terrain steepened radically.  Finally they arrived at the same lookout Remy had discovered with his Grandpaw and little brother the day before. 

     “Awesome,” Johnny said gazing out over his obsession.  All three looked at the swamp which was basking in the last of the day’s light.  The sun was setting over the Rocky Ridge. 

     “Better get our fire started,” Remy said and the three walked back up certain to return in the dark with flashlights.

     Four instant light charcoal briquettes and three matches made starting a fire short work.  The three boys piled up a huge amount of dead wood before darkness fell.  They broke into their food supply of Vienna sausages, crackers, sardines, Ritz crackers with peanut butter, and huge bags of potato chips.  Each boy brought his own glass 32oz bottle of soda.  They laughed and enjoyed themselves around the fire, not once even mentioning the swamp until all of sudden Johnny stopped, picked up his flash light, and said, “It’s time.”  Without another word he began making his way to their vantage point.  Jack and Remy grabbed their flashlights and followed.  Not a single word was uttered.

     Once they reached the point atop the large rock overlooking the swamp they all crouched down as though they expected someone to be shooting at them.  Johnny turned off his flashlight prompting Remy and Jack to follow suite.   

     “Johnny, what exactly are we looking for?” whispered Remy.

     “I’m not sure, but we’ll know when we see it.” 

     “It’ll probably be another gray possum,” Jack remarked, a faint attempt at humor.

     The time ebbed away as the boys were perched atop the rock waiting.  They listened for any noise that could be heard over the creek and they surveyed any movement that could be detected.  The moon, not quite full, was still out and as their eyes adjusted, the details of the dark swamp were more evident than any of them thought it would be. 

     About an hour later the boys heard a distant thumping.  They searched in vain to try to determine where it was coming from.  It was rhythmic like a cadence keeping succinct time.  It sounded as though it was coming from everywhere and nowhere all at the same time.  Thump…Thump…Thump…Thump…Thump…

     “It’s overhead,” an alarmed Jack announced as quietly as possible.  They each began searching the sky. 

     “Do birds fly at night?” asked Remy in a whisper.

     “Owls do, and they can be huge,” Jack replied.

     Then Johnny added, “Whip-poor-wills and nighthawks too, but this sounds too large.” 

     “Is it them?” asked Remy.
     “Maybe,” replied Johnny as the sound continued to circle the area unseen above them.  After another minute or so the thumping intensified and got louder sounding as though whatever it was breezed by just above their heads.  Then there was the sound of displaced foliage and the large willow tree shook visibly in the dim light of the night.

     No one moved and their senses were heightened.  Remy could hear his breathing labor and his heart beating in his ears.

     “What animal could do that Jack?” Johnny said as quietly as possible. 

     “Don’t know,” Jack whispered back.  He sounded scared.  Remy had never heard his best friend sound like that and this frightened him even more. 

     Remy grabbed Jack’s arm and said, “We should get out of here.”

     “It was like a shadow,” added Johnny, “I could see it just barely in the darkness darker than the night.  It was at least as big as a man, and flew into the willow, the gate.  They are here.”  His voice was even with no emotion, each syllable measured and exact as though it wasn’t Johnny speaking at all.  “Look,” Johnny pointed toward the tree.

     Two yellowish green lights could be seen they would flash off occasionally.  They were the brightest thing in the night.  “Do you see its eyes?” asked Johnny.

     “Is that what that is Johnny?” Jack asked.

     “Yes, it blinks, and it is looking our way.” As soon as Johnny said that, the bright green and yellow eyes vanished from their sight.  The tree sat still the swamp appeared as empty as ever. “It is gone for now,” said Johnny.

     “What do you mean?” asked Jack.  “Did it go back, wherever back is?”

     “It did, Jack, but it will be back.  Maybe not tonight, but we have their attention. Remy, how often can we camp here?”

     “As often as we want, but why would we want to have any part of this?  Look, I don’t know what we just saw, but I do know that whoever ‘they’ are – ain’t good.  They are evil and they don’t mean what’s best for us.  That thing meant us harm.”  Remy believed every word, and the other two just listened without reply not doubting what Remy said.   

     “Let’s go back up,” Jack suggested and everyone agreed.  They clicked on their flashlights and left.      

     Back at camp they talked till late into the night about what they experienced. Jack was now convinced that the mystery behind the swamp was not a known animal.  He was classifying the winged creature right up there with Bigfoot, the Loch Ness Monster, and UFO’s.  Remy told the story of Forty Perkins who was chased home one night from church by what he described as a winged creature back in the 1930’s.  It was one of Polly’s favorite stories and she loved to explain how Forty always either drove his car or rode his horse to church after the fateful night, and never alone.  Johnny explained that he had read that Indians believed in something called a Thunderbird, which was much larger than eagles.  Jack told a story about a kid in West Virginia who was carried off by a man-sized bird and never seen again.  By the time they were about to bed down it was after midnight and they were exhausted.  Remy thought how odd it was that they didn’t run home after seeing the winged creature.  The more they talked the less threatened he felt.  When Johnny said it was gone, Remy believed him, he didn’t know why.  Though they had all just witnessed the scariest moment of their lives, somehow sleep came easy.

     “Remy…Remy…Remy…Remy…” the wind spoke in a hushed voice.

     When Remy woke, he wasn’t sure what he was hearing or even where he was.  The fire was down to glowing embers.  A breeze fueled a flicker of flame and sparks ignited only to die on the ground.  Did he hear his name, he thought to himself.  Wiping the sleep from his eyes he raised.  Jack and Johnny were sound asleep both snoring slightly.  The cool night breeze came up again.

     “Remy…come.”  The sound came from the wind and blew toward the swamp.  It sounded like the wind was talking in a slow and hushed sound barely heard. 

     “Remy… come… to… the… swamp.”

     Jack and Johnny were still asleep.  Remy should have been afraid, but he wasn’t.  He should not have gotten up and left the camp, but he did.  He walked slowly and the wind blew gently toward the swamp.  Down off the slope he retraced their earlier steps to the point above the creek.  The wind died down to nothing and Remy glanced toward the willow.  Everything was quiet and still.  Nothing moved, and the water of the creek appeared to mute its tumbling gurgle. 

     “I’m here.”  Remy said feeling as though he needed to let them know.

     “So you are,” came a soft voice from across the creek.  It sounded identical to Remy’s voice. 

     “Who are you?”

     “You don’t know do you?”  This time he not only heard his voice but what sounded like a chorus of others. 

     “What did you want with me?  I heard your call.”

     “Did we call?  Or did you?”

     Suddenly, Remy wasn’t sure who did the calling.  “The wind called and said to come, I’m sure that couldn’t have been me.”

     “How sure are you Remy?”
     “Okay…I’m not real sure, so why am I here?”

     “We did send for you, but you heard your own voice, that is why your friends are still soundly asleep.  I’ve been waiting for a very long time to meet you.”

     “What is your name?”

     “I have no name, like many others we are nameless.”

     “Why do you have no name?”

     “We were never given names, Remy.  Who named you?”

     “My mom and dad named me when I was born.” 

     “We don’t have moms or dads.  We only have ourselves.”

     “Who are you and why are you in this swamp?”

     “I can’t tell you who we are, not yet.  This is our swamp and your Grandfather plans to drain it.  That would be a very bad idea, Remy.”

     “Why?”

     “Where would we go?  Some of us aren’t so nice – you would not want to turn some of us loose on your towns and villages.”

     “Was that one of you we saw or heard tonight that landed in the tree?”

     “No, that was not us. We aren’t entirely alone.  There are those that vie for us.”

     “Vie?  What do you mean?”

     “We are their prize, the targets of their mission.  They contend for us.”

     “I don’t understand.”

     “You shouldn’t understand.”

     “Well, if I can’t know who you are, then what are you?”  There was a long pause as Remy asked this and no reply came from the swamp.  Then a small dimly lit gray orb materialized and floated toward the creek from deep inside the swamp.  As the orb neared it changed form.  Remy’s mouth flew open.  He was looking at a mirror image of himself, a grayish shimmering slightly transparent light outlined by details that were his details.

     “Johnny was right, we are kids.”  Gone was the chorus of many voices, only the voice that was exactly like Remy’s remained.  Remy could think of nothing to say in return.  In the moment he felt a peace he had never felt.  It had been with him earlier, but now it was at a higher level.  “We are many, Remy, and you can help us.  In return, I will reveal all to you in good time. As for now, there is grave danger in how much you know.  The future of the swamp is up to you.  Don’t mention a word of this to your friends.  There is only one person you can trust and I can’t give you his name.  Those who contend for us are listening.”

     “Why do you make yourself out to be me?” asked Remy.

     “I’ll explain, again, in due time.”

     “What should I do?”

     “Go on back to camp. Things will work out somehow.  I will be in touch.”  With that the shimmering image of himself turned and walked back into the swamp changing back to the orb moments before disappearing entirely.  The yellowish green eyes flashed again in the Willow Tree, and the peace that had been so real began to ebb away.  Remy slowly backed away as they eyes watched him intently.  By the time he returned the fire was almost out, so he banked it with what wood was left and crawled back into his sleeping bag.  When he woke with the first penetrating rays of sunlight breaking through the trees on the Knob, he wondered if it had all been a dream.

Chapter Five

By 1852, the Great Irish Potato Famine had claimed over one million people or roughly twenty-five percent of the country’s population.  Just as many more fled Ireland for other lands, especially the United States.  An eleven year old boy named Samuel would stowaway on a ship leaving for Charleston, S.C.  His father had just died and his mother was near death.  He was to be sent to live with his uncle who had moved to Scotland ten years prior, but Samuel had no plans to move to Scotland. 

     Once in Charleston young Samuel lived on the streets until a merchant hired him as a stock boy for room and board.  He never told anyone his Irish last name and changed his name to Candon claiming to be from England.  He would later tell his son that he picked Candon because can do was in the name, and he fully expected the son to uphold that part of his name in everything he did. 

     Samuel worked his way up in the mercantile until he began to be paid money, which enabled him to rent a room at a nearby boarding house.  He saved his money and on December 1, 1859 he married Cassie Bencroft of Charleston.  Two years later, on April 12, 1861, the forces of South Carolina attacked Fort Sumter in Charleston.  This prompted Samuel to join a small militia that eventually traveled north to fight with the Army of Northern Virginia.  

     By September 17, 1862, Samuel had risen in rank to a captain.  That fateful September day he watched the bloodiest single day of the war from Miller’s corn field at the battle of Sharpsburg, Maryland near Antietam Creek.  That night while praying, Samuel was said to have heard from God that the cause of the South was in opposition to Christ.  He left the battlefield late after midnight, and a month later he and Cassie were heading to the mountains of North Carolina.  There they settled just north of Asheville in a quiet cove far away from the war.

     On May 16, 1870 the only son of Samuel and Cassie Candon was born.  Cassie did not survive the birth, and Samuel raised his son Artis alone in the Mountains vowing never to remarry.  When Artis was ten in 1880, Samuel fell dead plowing a field.  With his shoulder strap firmly in place, the horse, confused over what had happened, pulled the lifeless corpse back home to the shock of young Artis.  Artis ran four miles to a neighbor’s house for help, but much like his father, young Artis was on his own at an early age.  A local judge ruled that Artis would be sent to an orphanage.  Remembering the “can do” spirit of his father, he jumped a train to New England where he found work in a factory.  He paid a saloon owner under the table to allow him to rent a small room that was nothing more than a broom closet.  The only possession He had held on to was his mother’s diary reading it often.  Later he began recording what she had written about concerning Samuel adding some of the stories his father shared with him, and his own experiences over the years. 

     In June of 1890, Artis married Elizabeth Treanor, a sixteen year old girl who had runaway from an orphanage, and they moved west to St. Louis Missouri where he founded a textile mill with the help of his former New England boss.  While there they had twelve children, seven girls and five boys.  The youngest boy was named Pevy Candon, born on November 3, 1899.  He grew up in St. Louis and was educated at the finest schools in the city, which was growing by leaps and bounds. In 1904, St. Louis was awarded the World’s Fair and Artis Candon was on the advisory board.   Instead of going to college, Pevy enlisted in the Army to fight in the first World War against his father’s wishes.  He was shot four separate times and returned as a war hero in the autumn of 1817 with the Allied victory.  He moved to Boone, NC where he became a school teacher and a farmer.  He married Amy Nelson in July of 1919 and they had a son on October 10, 1920.  They named him Jacob, and he would be their only child. 

     Jacob was not a good student because he didn’t like to go to school.  He farmed and preferred to be outside.  The Great Depression had a profound effect on him as he watched as his father and mother battle the times.  Jacob learned to be a survivor in every sense of the word developing a dogged determination that would be the foundation of his character.  Artis only met Jacob once, and his only comment about the boy was that he reminded more of Samuel Candon than any of his other sons or grandsons.  Jacob stayed close to his father and mother in Boone, and in August 1940 married Polly Stenson of Mountain City, Tennessee amid rumors of war abroad.  On December 6, 1941 they had their first son, Jim.  The war started the next day.  Jacob volunteered and fought in North Africa, Italy, and was part of the D-Day invasion group.  He swept through Germany all the way to Berlin.  During the war both Artis and Elizabeth died in St. Louis on the same day of  February 13^th, Artis in 1942 and Elizabeth in 1944.  The children were spread far and wide.  By time they both perished they were almost penniless.  What they didn’t lose in the Great Depression they donated toward the war effort.  The Candon Textile Mill closed for good in January 1945.  The eldest son of Artis sold off what he could and was never seen by any of the family again.  Pevy always believed he went north to Alaska.    

     In November 1945 Jacob came home from the war and used the money he saved to buy 200 acres in Trent County for $3200.  Two more sons followed in 1946 and 1947 named Ted and John.  In January 1957, Pevy died only a few weeks after his beloved Amy had died of cancer.  Jacob kept all that Pevy had written about the family much of it from the diaries of Artis and Cassie.  Polly treasured this history more than anyone else and read it constantly.  It was widely speculated that she knew more about the Candon family than Jacob did.

     Big Jim and Jacob opened the saw mill in 1957 using the inheritance from Pevy and the sale of Pevy’s place in Boone as capital.  Both Ted and John married early and moved west.  John to Oregon in 1962, where he became a successful insurance salesman, and Ted to California in 1963, where he became a game warden.  Somehow both avoided the war in Vietnam.  They seldom visited and kept in touch by letters to their mom once a month.

     Remy loved the house of his Paw and Maw.  After working a miserable morning at the saw mill after a most interesting night of camping, he returned to help Polly with some garden chores. 

     “How’d the campout go last night?” asked Polly.

     “Fine.”

     “What’s that Hudson boy up to, I don’t trust him.  He hasn’t been around no more than a handful of times.” 

     “Johnny is different, but he’s okay.”  Remy purposefully avoided any talk about Johnny’s fascination with the swamp.  Polly just nodded her head and kept picking beans. 

     “You didn’t see anything from the swamp did you?” Polly asked.

     “Wha’dya mean?”      

     “You know, haunts or spooks.”

     Lying was not what Remy wanted to do, but he also did not want to talk at all about what he saw.  “No ma’am.  No haunts or spooks.  Excuse me maw, I need to go use the bathroom.”  He didn’t really, but the conversation was going down the wrong road.  Polly excused him from the field without stopping. 

     Remy went down the hall toward the bathroom then saw the door at the top of the narrow stairs open.  He glanced back at Polly bent over in the garden and decided it was his only chance to check out his grandfather’s “closet.”

     The stairs were steep almost like a ladder.  The sun from the southwest illuminated the room which had been painted all white, the floor included.  It was hot, but not unbearable.  The small room was square with the roof pitched steeply overhead.  Bookcases had been built in to nearly every nook and cranny.  There were volumes of all dusty books, stacks of paper, magazines, and other unrecognizable items that filled every available space along the walls.  It looked chaotic, but Remy knew it was all in Jacob’s order.  Only he used the space, so he could find anything he wanted and anyone else would be hopeless to find a pencil much less a specific item.  Under the window spread a homemade desk with more bookcases as pedestals on each side of a chair.  Remy walked with caution toward the desk and saw the ledger book opened on the left of the desk and a detailed plan for draining the swamp on the right.  His pulse quickened as he recalled the aberration’s warning from the night before.  Jacob was planning on ditching the swamp in sections after clearing it of all vegetation. 

     Also on the window seal above the desk was a thick folder from the University of Tennessee.  Remy eased it down and flipped through the pages.  The words were lengthy and beyond his reasoning, but he gathered that Bobbit’s Knob was believed to be the burial site of an ancient Indian chief.  The tribe was unknown as was the date and time of the burial.  They speculated that the tribe continued to bury the chief by heaping things upon the Knob for hundreds of years until finally they just disappeared without a trace.  As the years mounted, the Knob was grown over until any signs of the tribe were concealed under the layers of years of decay.  

     The University stated that they believed the find would eclipse all other early American finds and predate Columbus by more than 1,000 years.  One page detailed a map, which noted that the geologists thought that most of the material used to create Bobbit’s Knob actually came from the swamp.  Remy began to consider their connection.  The burial site of an ancient chief and the modern day portal to another world – a world he was now being pulled into.  He closed the file and placed it back on the seal, careful to put it back just as he found it.  He then backed from the room and went back to the garden.  He forgot to go to the bathroom.  

That afternoon Polly prepared a meal and the family gathered at the home for supper.  The TV in the living room played to no audience as the evening news detailed the upcoming Democratic National Convention in New York City in mid-July.  A peanut farmer from Georgia had won the nomination was the talk of the South.  Folks around Hydavale said he was a good Christian man, just exactly what the country needed.  Trent County was predominately Republican, but party lines had melted away awash in the hope of a solid Christian man from the south  in the Oval Office.  The other big news item was the Bicentennial Fourth of July coming up celebrating 200 years of independence and freedom.  

     The food was piping hot as they all took their seats.  Polly turned off the TV and without saying a world Jacob began the blessing, “Gracious Father, Creator of all, thanks be to You and Your mighty works.  We praise you as the author of our fate, may we always be found solidly in Your good and pleasing will.  Father we are grateful for the bounty of this table, the success of our endeavors, and the peace that you give us as we go about our lives.  Thank you for Jesus who loved us enough to come to this rotten world and die so we may live.  Bless this food and the hands that prepared it.  Amen.”

     Food was passed, utensils used, and Big Jim started the supper conversation asking, “What’re they doin’ in town for the Bicentennial?”  The question was asked of Polly, who was the aficionado of all that went on in Hydavale.  If she didn’t know the answer she could find out after only a few phone calls.  

     “Well, the 4^th is on Sunday this year, so they are having a two day extravaganza, one day for each hundred years.  On Sunday afternoon after church there is a big softball game and tourney planned with a homerun contest, horseshoe championship, and Gospel singing at night in the Courthouse yard.  On Monday there is a rodeo planned with a big picnic afterward and what they’re callin’ the biggest fireworks show in Hydavale history at 9pm to close out the days.”

     “Yeah, where they havin’ the rodeo?” Big Jim asked.

     “On the high school baseball field.  They say they’re bringin’ in bleachers,” Polly informed.

     “I guess coach Wedman would have had a heart attack if any of the football fields had been used,” Marsha noted. 

     Polly shook her head, “Word is coach Wedman is getting a take of the concession loot and some money upfront from the rodeo people.”

     Big Jim said, “It’ll take that to fix the baseball field.”

     Jacob  laughed out loud, “The baseball field will never see any of that money, son.  No, Moss Wedman already has that spent on football.  He could care less if the baseball team had to play their games next spring on the softball field.” 

     “How was the big camp-out last night, son?” Marsha asked.

     It just won’t go away, Remy thought, and replied, “We had a fun time, mom.”

     “I don’t suppose any ghosts from the swamp came and carried you away, huh?” Jacob asked as he passed some potatoes. 

     “Nope, didn’t get carried away a time.”

     “Good, then maybe you can convince your Maw that there is nothing to all this talk about haunts, ghosts and such.”

     “Jacob you can say what you want about the swamp, but you’re the only person on the creek who thinks it is not haunted.”  Polly’s spoke the truth, and her sound ability to be logical with what was illogical always infuriated Jacob, but that also had drawn him to her.  In reality they were a perfect match in that Polly was perhaps the only personality type that would be able to deal with a man like Jacob Candon. 

     “Paw, I don’t think we should drain the swamp,” said Remy.  Everyone looked up but didn’t say anything since this was the topic that sent Jacob walking home the day before.  Big Jim cut his eyes to Remy, a clear warning he was treading on thin ice.

     “Well why not, Remy?  Just Saturday you were ready to make a baseball field out of that God forsaken swamp.”  As Jacob said this, he looked at Big Jim with an accusatory glance as if to ask – “Did you put him up to this?” 

     “Son, we’ll talk about the swamp later,” Big Jim chided.

     “No that’s okay, we can talk about it now,” replied Jacob.  “Tell me, why did you change your mind?”

     “Polly, the beans are delightful.”  Marsha said this as a diversionary tactic, and everyone knew it, so no one replied.

     “I don’t know why I want the swamp to stay, Paw - maybe because I think something bad will happen if we do anything to it.”

     “Have you seen something, Remy?” Jacob asked.

     Remy thought about the file from the university and couldn’t figure if Jacob was asking about seeing something in the swamp, or seeing something he shouldn’t have in Jacob’s private closet office.  “Many people have seen things and heard things.  People that I wouldn’t say are crazy think there is something to the swamp that ain’t right.  If that is so, then I’m scared to think what might happen, you know… if maybe everyone is right.” 

     Jacob returned to his meal, but he looked at Remy apparently summing up what he was up to concerning the swamp.  A quiet hush just fell over the meal and a heavy tension was an almost tangible force in the room.

     “Why don’t we just wait, dad?” Big Jim asked of his father.

     “Why wait?  Because, across the creek there is at least $10,000 in profit in timber, maybe more.”

     Remy thought of the amount offered by the university to dig on the Knob, which was ten times the amount the timber would bring.  He wondered why his grandfather would be so adamant they ditch the swamp for a smaller reward when a huge reward was his for the taking just for signing his name on a piece of paper and allowing folks to dig on property they had no use for. 

     In the end, it was Jacob who let things go, although no one was under the illusion that they’d heard the last of draining the swamp.  Big Jim figured the topic was just tabled for now. 

     “Remy, I’m headed to the market tomorrow.  Wanna go?”  Jacob asked.

     “Sure!” Remy replied eager at the chance to go to the cattle market.  “Are we gonna take any?”

     “Nope, just do some pinhookin’ and see if we can make a dollar.”

     Remy always jumped at the chance to travel into Johnson City and go to the cattle market or “stock market” as Jacob referred to it.  There were several things he liked about the stock market:  getting up early and going with Paw, seeing the thousands of animals especially the largest of the bulls, eating at the market café which had foot-long hotdogs, sitting in the arena listening to the auctioneers cadence, watching the ring attendants climb the rails when an animal got after them, and sleeping on the way home.  You left before dark and you got home way after dark.  One day felt like three at the stock market.

     As was usually the case, Remy spent the night with his Maw and Paw the day before the stock market, and at 5am sharp, Jacob rolled him out of bed.  They were on the road by 5:20 after a plate of biscuits and gravy.  The drive took about an hour, and they parked along the front.  Trailers and cattle trucks were already rolling in and at 7am sharp the unloading would begin.  Pinhooking wasn’t entirely legal, but nobody monitored it, mainly because it served a purpose.  If you brought a load to market and didn’t want to wait till the last cow sold, which could be as late as 9pm with a big crowd, you just sold your load to the pinhooker if you agreed upon a price.  Time was money, after all. 

     Jacob Candon was considered one of the better pinhookers around.  There were some talents that were absolutely necessary to be successful; otherwise you could lose the better part of your backside.  First, you had to be able to eyeball different breeds of cattle and assess their weight.  They were most often sold by the pound, so accuracy was important.  Angus, Herefords, Charolais, Holsteins, Jerseys, and others all weighed out differently.  Second, you had to know the market price trends.  If you guessed correctly on the weight, but prices were down, then you could still lose money.  And finally, you had to know the look of healthy cattle that would bring the highest dollar per pound.  Jacob knew cattle about as well as sawing and kept up with market prices and had a few contacts who were buyers.  Jacob would usually wait till there was two down weeks in a row, for the beef market was rarely down three weeks in a row.  Monday morning as he and Remy got out of the truck the market had been down the previous two weeks.

     By 7am the line of trucks and trailers unloading across the front of the building was a hub of activity.  Jacob bought four truck loads of cows giving each farmer cash and then signing the cattle into his own name.  The farmer went home with cash in his pocket, and the rest of the day, while Jacob assumed the risk of the market.  After weighing his cattle, he got a card and wrote in the numbers.  By 11am Remy was having a foot-long hotdog with crinkle cut fries at the Lonesome Heifer Café.  The place was crowded and cigarette smoke was so thick you couldn’t see the ceiling.

     After lunch they went to the auction arena and waited for the sale to start.  Prices started out high, which pleased Jacob greatly.  As Jacob basked in the light of possible fortune, Remy grew bored after an hour and excused himself from the arena to wander the plank walkways that crisscrossed the barn ten feet above the cattle.  Remy found the bulls and noted a few of the more angry beasts.  He watched as they pawed, butted, and fought at each other.  It was clear which ones were the most feared.  The king of the bull pen was a large Black Angus with an exaggerated hump on his neck.  The others stayed out of his way, and if any of them came to close he rammed them with his massive head sending them smashing into other bulls as they all struggle not to fall.  A smaller Hereford and Charolais were also very active, but positioned always far away from the king Angus.  Remy was sure when the king made his way to the arena floor there would be no attendants on the sawdust floor, no they’d be up on the rails out of harms way. 

     At around 4pm the bulls sold and Remy returned to his seat.  He was right about the king Angus.  As he entered the ring he held his head high and ran at the attendants each a safe distance up the rail.  After he sold, which seemed to happen in a few seconds, a rope on a pulley opened the door leading out and he jumped at the opening to escape.  The rope released and the door slammed shut leaving Remy wondering what would become of the king Angus.

     The market shut down at 5pm for an hour and Remy and Jacob drove a short distance down the road to an old country store that made sandwiches.  This was also tradition, and Remy had a peanut-butter and jelly that he knew was the best he’d ever had, or at least since the last time they had been there last summer when school was out. 

     By 6pm they were back in their seats and the pace picked up in the arena.  Remy left often and checked to see how many more pens were left and by the time the last cow sold it was 8:37pm.  He was dogged tired.  Jacob led Remy to the office where he would pick up his check for the cattle sold.  The line was long and Remy grew even more tired.  He could understand exactly why some farmers would sell to pinhookers.  As the wait continued he secretly envied those who had been home all day.  Somehow though, the next time Jacob would extend an invitation, he could never recall the long line at the end of the day.  Just after 9:15pm, Jacob received his check.  He made $827.59 profit on the four loads, which more than paid for the trip.

     “Did’ya have fun, boy?”  Jacob asked.

     “Sure did, paw.”

     “Good.”

     “Paw, if you did this more often then you wouldn’t have to drain the swamp.  You could make more money and spend less pinhooking.”

     Jacob didn’t say anything for a moment as he looked straight ahead down the highway through the darkness.  “Pinhookin’ is unsustainable. Money made easily today is lost easily next time out, son.  You have good days and bad days, so if you can maximize the good and cut down on the bad ones – well, you can make a go of it.  Today was a good day, nothing more.  The timber across the road is worth a lot of good days.”

     “So is whatever is underneath Bobbit’s Knob.”

     Jacob smiled and laughed out loud.  “Do you think so, boy?  I don’t think there’s a thing under there.  Did your daddy tell you about the offer?”

     “Not exactly… I just kinda know about it.” 

     “I see, not going to reveal your source, huh?”  It never crossed Jacob’s mind that Remy had been in his closet office.  He figured Remy had overheard his parents talking about the fee to dig.  “I don’t want our place torn apart or the high and mighty wasting our property looking for something that ain’t there, even if they’re idiot enough to pay for crazy money for it.” 

     “Paw, I know you’re gonna do what you’re gonna do, but I do hope you consider not draining that swamp.  I feel as though something awful would happen.”

     “Now when did that change?  You must have seen something camping or did that Hudson boy run his mouth and get’cha all spooked?”

     “No, Johnny didn’t say nuthin’ wrong, scary, or whatever, but I did see something, Paw.  I don’t know what it was, but there is something in the swamp.”

     “Remy, boy – our minds can play tricks on us.  Sometimes we see or hear what ain’t there because maybe we want to hear it.  In the woods at night when darkness covers the land we tend to imagine things that look real to us, but aren’t really there.  Maybe a bump in the night is a monster, but I doubt it.  A strange noise coming from the edge of the night suddenly makes you feel as though you’re being watched.  A possum making noise becomes a bear, a wildcat is a panther, and a bat circle is a vampire.  Before you know it there’s a whole army out there of creatures just waiting to get you.”

     “I suppose so, but do you think everyone has been fooled.”

     “Not sure.  I know some folks believe they see what they see.  I’m sure Polly does, but no one has any evidence.  They just have stories of strange noises and glimpses of things they can’t explain or anyone else can examine.  As our minds play tricks on us, we jump to premature conclusions.  If you want to believe anything bad enough, you’ll find a way to believe it.  That make sense?”  Jacob looked over and Remy was sound asleep.  Taking his right arm he eased the boy over on the bench seat in a more comfortable position. 

     “Can’t…drain…the… swamp… paw…” Remy said in his sleep, barely audible Jacob heard every word.

Chapter Six

Remy woke at 10am and didn’t even remember being carried to bed, slipped into his pajamas, or being kissed on the cheek by his mom.  His dad and grandpaw were already at the mill as the small boy rubbed the sleep from his eyes, walked into the kitchen, and poured milk over Corn Flakes. 

     “Where’s Perry?” Remy asked his mom as she sat down with him.

     “Spent the night with Jud.”

     “Oh.”

     A ringing phone interrupted the conversation, “Remy, you need to mow the yard today,” she said getting up and answering the phone on the wall in the kitchen.

     “Hello.  What?  You’re kiddin’.  No. Yes, Remy’s here he went to the cattle sale yesterday with Jacob, they didn’t get back till late.  When was the last time you saw him?  Did he just slip out at night?  I’ll ask him, hold on.”  Marsha muffled the phone on her shoulder and looked toward Remy; his interest in the conversation had already been aroused, “Remy, did Johnny say anything about going camping last night?”

     “No, why?”

     “He ain’t home.”

     “You mean he’s missin’?”

     “That’s too strong a word, son.  Johnny Hudson has been in the woods since he could crawl.”  Marsha then explained to Johnny’s mom that Remy didn’t know anything.  After a good 15 minutes of consoling and reasoning, Marsha convinced Bess that Johnny would come bounding from the woods any moment.

     Remy knew better.  As soon as he heard his mom’s words he was convinced that Johnny had gone back to the Knob.  He picked up his pace eating his breakfast and then sped from the house down the road toward the Knob.  He crossed the road and made his way up the Knob the same way they had gone before.  Remy checked the path for any signs, but none could be found.  When he arrived at the campsite the fire pit was cold and damp.  It all looked as they had left it.  Slipping down the side of the Knob next to the swamp, Remy kept looking for any signs of Johnny and found nothing.  From the top of the rock overlooking the swamp, Remy surveyed the edge of the swamp for anything out of the ordinary.  He saw nothing and his mind began to ease.  Letting out a sign, he started his way back up the Knob thinking his mom must have been right.  Johnny was just in the woods somewhere.  He’d always done things like that – just walk out in the woods by himself late at night, but he’d never spent a whole night out, not even Johnny was that crazy.  First time for everything, Remy thought to himself.

     As Remy crested the top of the Knob he saw something on the log by the campfire pit.  It was a backpack.  He stopped dead in his tracks and almost hit the ground.  His head on a swivel, Remy searched the forest in every direction.  He could also see a small trail of smoke tracing upward from the pit.  His breathing became heavy.  He felt the presence of something, something evil, and something that meant harm to him.  Slowly as though expecting the worst, he eased toward the campsite.  As the pack came into view, he recognized it as Johnny’s.  The cool damp blackened fire pit now had the last of glowing coals from a fire.  The heat was unmistakable.  The pack was empty except for one note: 

Do not destroy the swamp or worse will happen!

Remy knew right away that it was Johnny’s handwriting.  He bolted from the camp sprinting down the Knob to the road.  He checked the road then ran at near full speed all the way up the hill to his home.  As he arrived Remy folded the note and put it in his back pocket undecided about what to do with it. 

     “Mom!  Mom!  Here’s Johnny’s pack.  He was up on the Knob camping last night.”  Remy didn’t explain the fact that he first found no evidence of Johnny at the camp.  Marsha was on the phone in a second to Bess, and a few minutes later the Hudson’s Buick pulled up in the drive.  Remy took Polly, Marsha, Bess, and Walter to the campsite to show them what he had found.   When they arrived on top of the Knob breathless and concerned, they only found what Remy found on his first trip. 

     “I don’t understand.  I swear there was…”, he stopped himself from saying fire and then continued, “…nevermind, his back pack right here on this log, and this note was in it.”  He took it out of his pocket and handed it to Mr. Hudson.  He looked at the paper and then scratched his head.

     “What are you pullin’, Remy?  There is nothing on this paper.”

     “Le’me see, sir.”  He took the paper and saw the message.  They can’t see it, he thought.  He felt flush and warm.  “I swear I thought there was a message saying Johnny had been here.  I must be seeing things.”

     Mr. Hudson appeared upset, but Bess spouted the obvious, “The pack is Johnny’s. Why would he be up here with no fire, camping by himself, and not telling anyone?”  No one had an answer. 

     An hour later the Sheriff and his men were searching the woods, swamp, and all the surrounding hills and mountains.  That night the local news in Johnson City led off with the headline of a missing 10 year old boy in the mountains of East Tennessee. 

The next day volunteers from all over East Tennessee and Western North Carolina were combing every inch of the Knob, the swamp with waist high waders, and all the surrounding mountains and ridges.  Jack and Remy sat at the top of the field above Jack’s house as they had recently with Johnny now poignantly absent.

     “What’dya think happened?” asked Jack.

     “Not sure, Jack.”

     “Do you think it was that winged thing?”

     “Maybe, but there are more than the winged thing.”

     “How’d you know?”

     “I seen something else that night that I didn’t tell you or Johnny.”

     “When?”

     “While you guys were sleeping I heard my name. It called me down there.”

     “What was it?”

     “It was me.”

     “Huh?  Are you for real?  What’s that suppose to mean, Rem?”

     “Jack, whatever it was – looked just like me.  It was as though it was my inner-self or something.  Look, I can’t explain it, that’s why I didn’t tell you, but now everything has changed.  Johnny’s gone.”

     “What’dya mean gone?”

     “I don’t sense he’s coming back.  It feels like he wanted to go.”

     Jack thought for a minute then responded, “I bet we aren’t going to be allowed to camp ever again, so how we gonna find out what happened?”

     “Should we?” Remy asked, “Why not let this just pass and then we go back to normal.”

     “I’d be okay with that Rem, but I don’t think they are finished with us.  We aren’t the problem, they are, and if they have a problem – well, we have a problem.  Johnny or no Johnny, we gotta see this thing through.”

      Jack’s bravery inspired Remy.  He didn’t know where Jack got that sort of bravado, and he felt more confident just being with him.  However, Remy couldn’t help but think that this situation was more personal to him.  Why bring his friend into this madness?  He was already regretting speaking of the thing that looked like him in the swamp.  “Jack, I think we should lay low till after the 4^th celebration.  Then we’ll get this figured out.”  Jack agreed.

On Friday that week, Remy left the mill early and walked up to Pastor David Densen’s house which had been built on a rise above the church.  He could see Ms. Densen in the garden tending to vegetables, and saw a search team returning to the church where they had parked their vehicles.  There had been no sign of Johnny reported.  Remy knocked on the door as the search crew left the church.

     The door opened and Pastor David towered over Remy at first missing him as his eyes adjusted to the boy’s height.  It was clear that he expected a more adult visitor.  “Why Remy Candon, what on earth have I done to have the pleasure of your visit today?” 

     Pastor David intimidated Remy with his size, unusual lanky features, and booming voice, although the tone was a bit softer this day.  “Good afternoon Pastor, can we talk?”

     “Sure, Friday afternoon is when I work on my sermon, but I’d love to talk to you.”

     “I thought God gave it to you.”

     Pastor David laughed out loud, “He does, He does, but He doesn’t show up like say – you have right now and hand it over face to face.  God works in here with all believers.  When he said this he pointed to Remy’s heart with his long bony index finger.  Remy nodded.

     Pastor David had a study with one wall all bookshelves crammed with books, just like Jacob’s closet office on the left and wooden paneling on the right adorned with several family portraits and pictures.  The back wall was all windows and light streamed in from the outside.  In the middle of the room there was a desk and two wingback chairs sat in front of it.  Remy took one.  Pastor David left the double French doors paned with glass open into the living room and took a seat in the leather button tufted chair behind the desk.  The pastor asked Remy what was on his mind and for thirty minutes without stopped, Remy told Pastor David Densen everything that had happened.  He left out no details and even produced the note found in the backpack.  Pastor David didn’t say much, but he had forgotten about his sermon.

     “Pastor Densen, can you read anything on this note.”  Remy handed it across the desk.

     “Yes son, I can.”

     “If you don’t mind me asking, what does it say?”

     “It says, ‘Do not destroy the swamp or worse will happen!’” 

     Remy sighed.  He had found someone else who could read it besides himself, and an adult to boot.  He suddenly began to relax a little, and almost felt like crying, but he held a brave face. 

     “Let’s walk down to the Knob boy.”

     “Okay.”  They left and walked down the road to their destination.  Jacob saw them take to the Knob, but didn’t join them or wave to the Pastor.

     As they reached the top of the Knob, the Pastor said, “Remy, I know about this Knob and that your grandfather has been offered a serious royalty to allow digging by the University of Tennessee.  You see I’m sort of a arm-chair archeologist myself.  William Albright is one of my greatest heroes and I studied much of his work while in seminary.  What we stand on is ancient.”  The terrain had been trampled all around and the growth of summer broken in the search for Johnny.  Pastor David took Remy off four separate sides of the Knob and traced a line of occasional exposed rock and stone.  He explained, “The rest of the stone lay strewn here and there, but these four lines I’ve shown you are remarkably straight.  I believe if you cleared the trees and top soil you would find this is a pyramid.  These four lines are the ridges.  My guess is that these people, whoever they were, involved themselves in some rituals that lead to demonic forces being present here.  Now, I don’t want to spook you, but you’ve already seen a lot my boy.  You see it is like this...”  The Pastor sat on a log which put him almost at eye level with Remy, who hung on every word, “…there is a spiritual realm or world we can’t see even as believers.  Some of us get a little too connected, say like what happened to you the other night, and I can say I’ve been privy to the spirit realm myself.  Now I know your dad has taught you how to play chess, right?”

     “Yes sir, we play all the time.”

     “Good, this realm is a lot like a chess match between our Holy Father and the fallen angel known as the devil.”

     “Are we like the pawns then?”

     “No, not usually, the pawns and players are angelic beings.  Some have more powers than the others like a bishop can move much less encumbered than a pawn, or a knight and a castle, there are all sorts.  We merely get caught on the playing board my son.  But it is important to know that the real King is always in your corner, come what may.”

     “He is Jesus.”

     “Oh yes, Jesus.”

     “Well, Pastor David, how can we get off the board?”

     “We can’t till the Lord calls us home, and we don’t control what spiritual skirmishes are brought upon us or we wander into.  You are in one now that much I’m sure of, no doubt.”

     Remy had felt all alone in this battle.  Having the Pastor know about what he was going through was a comfort to him.  “Pastor, you said you’ve been in one of these battles before?” 

     The old Pastor smiled and said, “Yes, I have. That is one reason why I could read your note.  It takes a child-like faith to believe in the world of the spirit, and I’m still as a child when if comes to my faith.  I have seen things Remy.  Some where good things, some not, just like you.  You’re winged creature with the green eyes has been common to these parts for years.  Maybe all the way back to the dawn of this Knob.”

     “Do you think he got Johnny?”

     “Not sure, Remy, but Johnny apparently all but wished this upon himself as I understand from what you’ve told me.  Being overly fascinated with these creatures from the dark corners of the spirit world is not wise.  It is a sure fire way to cross their path, and that never turns out good.” 

     “What should I do now?”

     “Pray.  Matter of fact we’re gonna do that now and just request the good Lord to watch out for your steps.”  Pastor Densen then said a short prayer, not full of fancy words, or elaborate requests, just a simple prayer of protection and discernment.  Remy walked home, and the so did Pastor Densen.

     Jacob called to Remy from the front porch.  Remy walked over to his paw.  “What did Pastor Densen want with you on the Knob?”

     “Well paw, I went to see him because I had a lot of questions about what I saw the other night camping and the fact that Johnny is all gone now.”

     “I see.  And, what did the good Pastor have to say about all this.”

     “He told me that there is a spirit world we can’t see that is like a chess game between God and the devil.  He said we can get caught up in that match.”

     “You believe that?”

     “Not sure what to believe, paw.”  Remy did believe, but didn’t admit to it.  He knew that Pastor Densen and Jacob had their disagreements about things he couldn’t understand. 

     “I’m not draining the swamp if that helps,” Jacob told Remy.

     “Really, you’re not?”

     “No.  Whatever is going on, and I don’t profess to know what that is, is not at all good.  Remy you should stay away from the swamp and the Knob.  I don’t mind you goin’ up there with an adult, even Pastor Densen, but you stay away.  You and Jack both, you hear?”

     “Yes sir.”  Remy hoped to could be obedient to his grandpaw’s instructions, but he doubted he would be able to do so. 

      The next week marked seven days since Johnny had been missing, and the search teams changed the mission from search and rescue to recovery.  They no longer expected to find Johnny alive.  Bess and Walter Hudson were remaining hopeful and they both spent much of their days in the woods looking for the son.  Walter had asked for and was granted a paid leave from work while Bess, a school teacher, was on summer break.  They searched constantly.