The Hangin' Tree

1/1/79

Moved into the new house today. I don’t have to share a room with Petey, so that’s good. My room is down here in the basement. Petey is on the second floor, across the hall from Mom and Dad. Since he’s little, four years old, they want him close to them.

After dinner, while Petey and me were watching TV and I heard Dad telling Mom, “No, Robert, really doesn’t need to know about that.”

I wonder what it was that I really don’t need to know about.

1/3/79

Had a nightmare last night. A bunch of men were standing around outdoors. They had torches like you see in old black and white movies. They were dressed like people you see in history books. One of the men was in trouble. His hands were tied behind his back and he had a rope around his neck. The other men were pushing him around and they put him on the back of a mule. They tied the rope around his neck to a branch on an oak tree. He was screaming, but it was like he was too far away for me to hear what he said. An old man with a bushy black beard whipped the mule and it ran out from under the screaming man. The man was hanged and he was kicking his feet for dear life, but it didn’t help. The rope strangled him and, after a few minutes, he quit struggling. I guess that he was dead.

I couldn’t go back to sleep for a few hours after that. I just stared at the darkness of my room for a few hours. I tried a trick that Mom taught me. I said the books of the Bible until I dozed off. That almost always works for me.

1/4/79

Aunt Molly came by for a visit. She’s the one who bought me this journal that I’m writing in for Christmas.

“You say that you wanna be a writer someday,” she explained, “this will be a good place to start.”

“Aunt Molly, I want to write stuff like Ray Bradbury does!”

“I can guarantee you that Ray Bradbury has a journal that he writes in ,” she said. “This will get you in the habit of writing. You gotta start somewhere!”

So far, so good…

Aunt Molly is Mom’s sister, but you would never know by looking at them. Mom is what Dad calls a “pretty little thing”. She has shoulder length, brown hair and big, brown eyes. She’s tiny. She comes up to Dad’s shoulder and he’s not very tall. She’s slender-Dad can wrap one arm around her little waist and spin her around. And, like I said, Dad isn’t a big guy. Mom has fair skin and a face like a movie star. I can easily see why my father fell in love with her.

Aunt Molly is, well, a large woman. Once I called her “fat” and Mom smacked me on my leg. She told Dad to say something to me. Dad said, “Son, she ain’t fat, she’s just big for her age!” He got smacked, too! Her skin is like brown leather from laying out in the sun all summer. Molly’s hair color changes about once a year. It’s orange/red now. Last year, it was blonde.

Molly is also loud and opinionated where Mom is soft spoken and always seems to know the right thing to say. Molly has never been married and doesn’t have kids, but she always seems to have advice for my parents on having a happy marriage and raising boys.

I heard them talking and came up from my room to the living room. Molly was on the couch and Mom was on the love seat. Their shoes were off and they each had a can of Tab. Petey was on the floor, pushing a Hot Wheels car and making motor noises.

“Lord, Holly, I could never live here, knowing what went on!” Aunt Molly was saying.

Mom shook her head and pointed at Petey on the floor.

“You ain’t told the boys?” Molly asked and she seemed shocked.

Mom sighed.

“Robert, honey, why don’t you take Petey into the family room and see if you can find him some cartoons or something?” Mom asked. Ever meet a girl or a woman who made you feel good just by saying your name out loud? That’s the way Mom is.

“C’mon, squirt!” I said as I took Petey by the hand and led him to the family room. The family room was my favorite place in the house. One wall had a built in bookcase filled with books. There was a couch and two bean bag chairs, one for Petey and one for me. There was also a TV. I turned on the TV. We only got two channels. On channel 6, they were showing a soap opera. On channel 12, the PBS station, Sesame Street was on.

“Big Bird!” Petey squealed with delight. He sat down on his bean bag and I knew he would be entertained for an hour. I was really curious about whatever it was Molly was so concerned about, so I walked back into the living room.

“I’d at least tell Robbie about it!” she was saying, her voice lowered, but still loud. “That boy is eleven and he’s smart for his age! He’s sleeping down there where the old man died!”

I hate being called “Robbie”, just for the record.

“Molly, please!” Mom said, as I walked in and sat down beside her.

“What in the heck are you two talking about?” I asked, trying to sound like I couldn’t care less.

“Well, hon, some things happened on this property a long, long time ago…” Mom said. I could tell by her tone that she really didn’t want to go any farther.

“I can spell it out for Robbie if you ain’t got the guts!” Molly said, her voice sounding like a snake hissing.

I remembered something that Uncle Charley, Mom and Molly’s brother once told me. He said Ausnt Molly was a bully when they were kids. “Molly would throw your Mom down on the bed and do belly flops on her, knock the wind out of her,” he said. “Molly would twist Holly’s arm behind her back until she’d beg to give up. I finally told on her and your Granny made her stop”

It seemed like Mom was getting bullied all over again and I didn’t like it.

“Come here,” Molly said to me. I got up and followed her to the other side of the room. I did this more out of curiosity than anything. She pointed to a picture hanging on the wall. The picture had been there ever since we moved in. I had never paid attention to it before.

It was an old, black and white photo in one of those oval shaped frames that they used back in the old days. A man and woman were standing in front of a bookcase. The bookcase was probably one of those backdrops they have for people to pose in front of in photography studios. The man was skinny and had a white beard. He was wearing a black suit, white shirt, and a string tie. He held a bowler hat in his hand. I gasped when I looked closely at his face. It was the same man with the black beard from my dream. Now, he was older and his beard was white, but it was him. In the dream, he had looked furious and mean. Now, he looked sad and tired. Of course, nobody ever smiled in pictures back in the old days.

The lady beside him was tall, slender, and dressed in a plain, cotton dress. She had her hair pulled back in a bun. One of her hands was gripping the man’s arm. Her facial expression was sour. Honestly, she looked like a mean person.

“That man is Zebedee Slaney, he was one of our ancestors. He built this house you’re living in. That’s his wife, Ellen. Zebedee started up a group around here called the Vigilance Committee back in the 1800’s. He said they were going to keep things safe for decent people. Sounds real good, but his idea of keeping things safe was stringing up anybody who didn’t know their place! Former slaves, American Indians, and poor men who tried to better themselves were the main targets. Usually, the Vigilance Committee would trump up some accusation, bring them here, and hang‘em in that big ol’ oak tree out there in the back yard!”

“Ellen was a deeply religious woman. If the Methodists had ordained women back then, she would have been a pastor. In their later years, she would take him down in the basement you’re and they’d spend hours. Ellen would demand that Zebedee repent of his sins and he would try, but it seemed she was never satisfied! One time, they was down there praying and ol’ Zeb’s heart gave out on him and he died!”

I felt myself shivering. Aunt Molly’s story had scared me!

I pulled away from her and went back to the family room and watched TV with my little brother. I had outgrown Sesame Street a long time ago, but I didn’t really want to hear any more of Molly’s stories!

Finally, I heard her leaving. A few minutes later, Mom walked into the family room and sat on the floor between Petey and me. I thought she seemed sad.

“Well, now you know, I guess,” she whispered in my ear.

I didn’t know what to say, so I nodded.

“We just didn’t want you and Petey to feel uncomfortable here. It’s not that we wanted to keep secrets or anything.”

I nodded again.

“So, it’s all true?” I asked.

“Yes, as far as I know. As a matter of fact, the kids used to sing a song about it.”

“How did it go?” I asked. This whole thing was making me curious.

She nodded her head toward a guitar case in the corner. “Ask your daddy to play it for you. He’s the musical one in the family.”

I nodded again. Like I said, I was curious.

1/6/79

This afternoon, I walked into the family room. Dad was sitting on the couch, watching the Kentucky Wildcats continue their recent losing streak against Alabama.

“Look at that!” Dad yelled in frustration as a Kentucky player missed a free throw.” A championship last season and we can’t hit nothing this year!”

I sat on the couch and watched the last few minutes of the game. Kentucky lost 74-67. Dad sighed, shook his head, got up, and turned the TV off. I got up, too, and walked over to where his guitar was. I opened the case, took out the guitar, and carried it to Dad.

“Wanna hear some Merle Haggard or Marty Robbins?” he asked, strumming a few chords.

“Mom told me there was a song about Zebedee Slaney and what he did in the 1800s…”

“Yeah, I heard that Molly opened her big mouth about that. Let me see if I remember.”

He strummed a little bit, hummed a few bars, then said “Let me try it in E.”

Then, he sang:

Will you come along with me?

On down to the hanging tree

All the men with Zebedee

They will keep us safe and free

They have a rope and they have a tree

Somebody will hang, just wait and see

So, take my hand and come with me

We’ll go down to the hanging tree

“It’s a little kid’s song,” I said, “like “Mary had A Little Lamb” or something. I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Yeah, if I heard you or Petey singing something like that, I might whup your tails!” He laughed so I’d know that he wasn’t too serious.

I couldn’t get that silly tune out of my head for the rest of the day!

1/8/79

School started back today. I was nervous about it, but it went pretty well. I think I made a friend. His name was Newt Gibson and he sat behind me during every class period. He talked a lot-I mean non-stop!

He asked where I lived and when I told him, his eyes got wide and he shook his head.

“They call that the “Hangin’ Tree House” and they say it’s haunted!”

“There’s no such thing as ghosts!” I said.

That night, while Petey was taking a bath, I told my parents what Newt had said. They both told me that there was nothing to worry about.

“You know there’s no such thing!” Mom said. “That Holly, somebody ought to take a horse whip to here hind end!”

“The dead know not anything, neither have they any more a reward.” Dad said. He always seemed to have a Bible verse for every occasion.

I felt better after our little talk.

1/12/79

I woke up in the middle of the night. I heard voices. At first, they were too faint to make out, but after a while I could hear them. I wish that I hadn’t!

The voices sounded like an elderly woman and even older man.

“Reprobate! On your knees, old man! Ask a thrice holy God to have mercy on your hellbound, never dying soul!

“This floor is hard on my poor old knees, old woman, but I’ll try!”

“Better sore knees than the burning of a lake that burneth with fire and brimstone! Now, atone to your Maker, reprobate!”

“Dear, Lord, I ask for you to forgive me of my sins. I have killed at least thirty men. To be honest, I have lost count! I swindled old man McDonald to get this here property where I live. I have taken your Holy Name in vain. I have blasphemed. I have committed aldultery.”

I heard the sound of a hand slapping against flesh.

“When did you commit adultery, old fool?”

“When I went to Maysville to take our tobacco to market. One of the buyers knew a certain lady there…”

Another slap!

“You laid with a harlot?”

“Yes, dear, and I repent of this awful sin!”

I put a pillow over my head, trying to block out the sound! Somebody grabbed the pillow and threw it away! It was pitch black in my room, but, somehow, I could still see her-She looked like a skull with white hair sticking up in all directions. I didn’t see any eyes in the sockets, but a red glow that looked like a fire was burning inside her head. she towered over my bed-she seemed to be almost as tall as the ceiling! She pointed a long, bony finger at me! I felt goosebumps all over my body! In spite of my best efforts, I wet myself!

“Reprobate! You are no better than that adulterous reprobate! Prepare to die!”

That was all I could stand! I jumped out of bed and ran out of the room in bare feet and wet PJs! I ran as hard as I could until I got the door of my parents’ bedroom! I banged on the door until Dad opened it. He looked dazed, standing there in a pajama bottom, shirtless and barefoot.

“Dad, my room! It is haunted! There’s somebody or something down there!”

He held up a hand.

“Simmer down, young’un! Give me a minute, alright?”

Somehow, I did just that. He went back into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. A few minutes later, he came back. He had a glass jar filled some kind of liquid in one hand and a Bible under his arm.

“Let’s go!” he said. I followed him down to my room. He walked in and turned the light switch on. I felt like a fool. No sign of a ghost. Dad looked around and, then, he opened the Bible. He read:

“For it is written, He shall give his angels charge concerning thee: and in their hands they shall bear thee up, lest at any time thou dash thy foot against a stone."

After that, he opened the jar and dipped his fingers inside. He spread the substance inside the jar on my door, the posts of my bed, and on my pillows.

“It’s anointing oil,” he explained. “Got it from my preacher buddy, Brother Mount.”

He took some of the oil and rubbed it onto my forehead. Then, he put his head on top of my head and prayed:

“Father God, I ask that you honor the Holy Word and give your angels charge over my son. In Jesus’ name I pray, Amen and amen.”

It was like nothing had happened.

“Change into dry things and go to bed,” Dad said. “It should be alright now.”

I did and it was.

December 24, 1999

I came back home for Christmas with my wife Felicia and our boys, Judd and Jason. Mom had found a plastic tote full of my things and this old journal was in there. I haven’t kept a journal since back then, so I guess I should update.

Da, only had one vice-Camels. We lost him to lung cancer back in ’96.

Mom has done pretty well on her own. Still pretty and slender, her brown hair is silver now. She’s had several would be suitors, but I doubt that she’ll ever remarry.

Aunt Molly finally got married to Dad’s preacher buddy, Brother Mount. She’s changed. The church folk in her husband’s congregation talk about her meek and humble spirit.

The boys insisted on sleeping in my room. I led them down there. After they had gone to bed, I placed my hand on the bedroom door and prayed:

“Father God, I ask that you honor the Holy Word and give your angels charge over my son.

In Jesus’ name I pray.”

Amen and amen.