State of Horror: North Carolina: State of Horror

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

My dictionary loosely defines an anthology as a book or other collection of selected writings by various authors, usually in the same literary form. In making State of Horror: North Carolina, it was a focus on the various authors which made creating this book such a joy. The quality of the submissions made it a challenge to pick the final selections now contained within these pages, as each story was entertaining and a great read. I would like to thank each of the authors for their submission and a special thanks to those who were selected. The overall process for editing and creating the final product can be challenging on a good day, but the authors worked to bring the best out of their tales.

As always, I would like to thank a friend and the original creator of the State of Horror series, Armand Rosamilia. Without his creativity in the beginning, we would not have this enjoyable series today. It is also appreciated that he continues to make appearances in the books with new Dying Days stories to share with the readers.

Building an anthology takes a team and I have been working with an amazing team. Natasha Alterici lent her talent once again to the cover illustration. Laura W. added her love of reading and sharp eyes to the proofing process. Susan R. has added assistance with some of the finer promotional aspects. A big thanks to Jen H. for helping me get the feel for your home state. Each of these people has a special thank you from me, as without them, I would not have been able to put this all together.

Thank you to my dear friend and constant soundboard, Margie C. Without your help and guidance with the editing stages we would not have the books we have here today. You are my lifelong friend, the editor’s editor, and your devotion to seeing Charon Coin Press succeed is second only to my own desire. Words of thanks do not seem enough to express my gratitude.

I would like to thank my wife, Christine. How you help bring this book to reality would be a list as long as the book itself. From picking up the slack as I sequester myself in my office to listening to me ramble non-stop about the stories, you have been there every step of the way. You help with all the behind-the-scenes tasks which others do not see, but the results cascade throughout all things. Thank you for all you do.

Last, but not least, all of us at Charon Coin Press, and the authors from this book, would like to thank you, the reader. Without your love for reading and choosing this book to read, we would not be able to make this happen. It is with our warmest thanks that we present to you State of Horror: North Carolina.

Jerry E. Benns

INTRODUCTION

What captures the imagination and draws people to North Carolina? Is it the multiple mountain ranges, which make up the western borders? These ranges are said to be the home of mysterious lights appearing along Brown Mountain. Are these phantom illuminations really the spirits of the Native American maidens searching the hills and hollows for their fallen warriors? On the other hand, maybe the draw is the specter who walks the beaches near Cape Hatteras—Grey Man—who legends claim foretells the coming of storms that reign havoc upon the eastern point. The first English colonial settlement was off the shores of North Carolina. The mysterious disappearance of the town’s inhabitants is still unsolved. Yet, speculation and folklore continue to provide many campfire stories. Pirates once patrolled the coast of this state. Many of their ships were lost and even more tales of sunken treasure were born. Maybe these stories and more are what drew others and me to North Carolina on our tour of the state.

When I first considered making North Carolina the third state visited in the State of Horror series, I began looking into its history, geography, and folklore. The mountain ranges on the western side held my fascination as each spur with names such as Smokey Mountains, Brown Mountains, and Blue Ridge offered up large peaks and dense forests to let my mind wander through potential tales of ghosts and lost souls. The potential for caves to be explored, and the hidden treasures of folklore were some of the enticing elements helping to push the decision over the line. However, that was just the beginning of my discovery of North Carolina.

Unlike many states throughout the United States, I had very little time to explore North Carolina. I believe my only real experience in the state may have been a few hours layover at Charlotte Airport. I would not consider my brief repose fully experiencing the state, but there was something which stuck with me over the years since that layover. As I was waiting for the weather to clear at my destination, I had the opportunity to entertain myself with exploring the airport. Now, if you have ever been stuck waiting on a flight, you know you will find yourself looking at things to keep yourself entertained. I happened upon a little shop, which boasted a wall of books and local tourist information. For hours, I flipped through picturesque magazines and brochures, books on folklore and history, and this one well-crafted coffee table book with beautiful pictures. As I was deciding on which state to feature next in the series, these memories came flooding back. I wanted to revisit these ideas and places. The majestic Biltmore Estate, the images of foggy twilight through darkening woods, and tales of ghosts all needed a voice.

Within the pages of this book, the storytellers have captured some of the tales and places I had hoped to read about. The stories share the culture, the landscape, the feel of North Carolina and wrap them up in tales of horror. As I finish the final task on my second layover in North Carolina, I look through the pages and think—these are the stories that capture the imagination and draw people to North Carolina. This is their State of Horror.

Jerry E. Benns

Editor

A LITTLE MORE MUD IN THE PASQUOTANK

by Nathanael Gass

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All I’m saying is, I had no idea that a backwater little fucktown like Elizabeth City was home to an unsolved murder. Timothy Ropes, who everyone still called Timmy (much to his annoyance), leaned back in his booth seat. Around him, dozens of roosters perched maintaining a chorus of stillness. Most were porcelain, but a few were oil on canvas, or were made of wire.

Brittany Rhoding took a sip of her coffee and began to add another cream. I don’t really think that’s surprising considering you said it happened about a hundred years ago? Also watch your language, please. At school nobody cares if you cuss, but this is a family restaurant. She hadn’t dared look around after her boyfriend had dropped that word. In a small town like this she’d probably be reprimanded for her boyfriend’s behavior by her mother when her parents returned from out of town. It’d happened before.

Eh, don’t have such sensitive ears, Timmy responded, taking a sip of her coffee. She glared at him and pulled the mug back towards her side of the table. "Anyways, get this. They found her body floating in the Pasquotank thirty-seven days later. Can you imagine, yeah? Thirty-seven days rotting in that muddy stink?" He pinched his short nose and waved a hand in front of his face. The breeze stirred by his hand caused his short, black bangs to flutter lightly.

I’d prefer not to, Brittany replied.

I mean, your family owns a house right on the river, you’ve probably been swimming in it, yeah?

Brittany nodded. The river was often called coffee-colored, but Brittany never quite liked that description. She saw the shallows of the river every day, and the water, stained by the cypress trees and knees, turned more the color and clarity of cola. In the shallows, sand turned from white to mahogany at the shoreline. That was the thing though. You could see through it; it was somewhat clear. Coffee wasn’t clear.

Yeah, I swam in it once too, he said. Couldn’t for long though, it creeped me out. The water around my shoulders was warmed by sunlight, but it was so muddy my toes were cold. Looking down, I couldn’t see ‘em. Couldn’t help but think about what else I couldn’t see. He gave off an exaggerated shiver. The river’s forty feet deep in some parts. I don’t want to think about what’s in there.

Brittany rolled her eyes. Catfish and turtles.

If you say so, he said. but Nell Cropsey’s body was floating in that murk for over a month. Can you imagine a cold, rotted hand grabbing at you as you swam past?

The waitress came. Timmy ordered his usual, a cheeseburger, and Brittany was about to give her order when Timmy continued. And a cheeseburger with Swiss cheese for her. Fries on the side.

Brittany opened her mouth to object, but the waitress smiled and asked if that was all. Before she could get a word in, the server was bustling towards the back.

What was that? she demanded. I don’t want a cheeseburger!

Please, come on. Just try it with Swiss; you’ve never had a Swiss cheeseburger. It tastes totally different; it’s very mild, I’m sure you’ll like it.

I don’t even like Swiss cheese, she snapped.

Well if you don’t you can just scrape it off. No big deal.

Timothy looked like he was about to say something, then changed his mind and started talking about Nell Cropsey again. Anyways, Nell Cropsey. Everyone thought her ex did it even though there was no real evidence.

Well? she said. Who did?

He blinked at her several times, making a show of it. When he finally spoke, it was to say, What part of ‘unsolved’ wasn’t clear?

Well, I didn’t know if you meant unsolved at the time, she defended herself.

Nope, unsolved to this day. Apparently the Cropsey family received an anonymous letter a month later, postmarked Utica, New York, which claimed to detail the night’s events. In it, the claim was a poor dude tried to steal one of the Cropsey family’s pigs and Nell tried to stop him. He hit her on the head with a stick, killed her, panicked, and dumped the body in the river. He paused the story to lean forward and emphasize his words. Get this—it also contained a diagram showing where they could find her body. The police ignored the letter, but a few days later her mother found her body floating in that area, just a few hundred feet away from their boathouse. The autopsy showed she’d been hit in the head with a blackjack and dumped in the river. Timmy leaned back, smiling. I think what happened was some starving guy was stealing a pig so he could eat, Nell Cropsey tried to stop him, he hit her in the head a little harder than he meant to, then when he realized she was dead, dumped her in the river. Then he ran off to Utica, New York, wrote the letter to relieve his guilt and give the family some peace, sent it, and never came back.

Brittany shrugged. Where did you learn this?

In school. History class. Miss Taul was probably waiting all semester to tell us about the one exciting thing that ever happened in the history of this little fucktown.

Glaring at him again, she tacked on, You mean the one exciting thing to you.

No, pretty much to everyone.

I don’t find it exciting. It’s a horrible murder of a woman. What happened to her ex?

Oh, he was put in jail, then on trial. Then sentenced to death. Upon seeing the upset in Brittany’s face, he continued. They retried him though, don’t worry; sentenced him to twenty years in prison. He was pardoned after a while. The town almost lynched him! Exciting, yeah? We don’t have lynch mobs today.

Brittany grimaced and replied, The only mobs we have these days are when Black Friday comes around.

Timmy laughed. Yeah, those are worse, aren’t they? They trampled some dude to death last year, didn’t they? And that was just here.

It was Brittany’s turn to shudder, and luckily their food arrived to distract Timmy from the conversation.

Immediately she set about removing the Swiss cheese from her burger by scraping it off with a butter knife. It clung to the knife, white goo oozing along the silverware, but she did a reasonable job. Timmy remained silent while she did so, attacking his burger and guzzling his Coke.

They ate in silence. Occasionally Timmy would steal some of Brittany’s fries and she’d glare at him. He never saw, though. He purposely looked down at the abundant amounts of ketchup he’d swab them through.

When the checks came, Timmy grabbed his and immediately went up to the counter to pay. Brittany took a few moments to enjoy the last warm dregs of her coffee before following, leaving the tip on the table. She paid as Timmy waited outside.

She left, the door’s motion ringing the rooster-shaped bell that hung over it. Timmy grabbed her arm and began to walk towards the river; it was only a few blocks down. They could see it from where they stood. I was thinking we could walk by the Cropsey house, you know, he said. It’s only about a mile away, a bit past your place.

Brittany shrugged. Sure.

They walked. Timmy talked about a match of some video game he’d played with his best friend, then about how annoying his homework was, and so on. The sun was setting on the Pasquotank, and Brittany took it in as they walked. Sunset and sunrise were the only two times the river really looked pretty. The warm colors set off the muddy brown water well and the bright red streaks of clouds reflected in the water made the river look similar to an ancient bit of cave-painting. On the far bank, silhouettes of cypress trees remained bony against the orange sky.

A bright light shined out from between the trees on the far bank. She nudged Timmy and stopped, pointing. What is that?

He peered at it for a few moments. Even as he did, it faded. Probably a car, I’d imagine. There’s a road running through that area, probably just their brights shining through the forest a bit. Maybe some campers. I don’t know. I don’t have binoculars for eyes.

A few minutes later they were in front of the old Cropsey house. It was Victorian style, light blue, with two porches—one on the lower level, and one on the upper. A few bald cypresses stood in the yard, a bit away from the gardens surrounding the porches. A small historical sign stood between the sidewalk and the road, its leather-brown colored background and gold words briefly explaining the story of ‘Beautiful Nell Cropsey’s Mysterious Disappearance.’ Brushing a few wisps of her orange hair away from her face, Brittany looked up and read it.

She shuddered after finishing. You didn’t include the part where it seems everyone committed suicide later.

I didn’t know that! he said, and turned to read the sign himself.

Wow, he replied. Her younger brother, her sister’s boyfriend, and her own boyfriend. All killed themselves. Maybe they were all in on it, and they couldn’t take the guilt anymore. Or maybe her ghost did it!

Brittany rolled her eyes and took one last look at the house before heading back to hers. It was a short walk away, and now she was actually a bit upset by the proximity. She had no idea before that she lived just a few hundred feet away from the source of an unsolved murder and triple suicide.

Brittany climbed the steps to her porch with Timmy, but turned at the top and sat on them. He chose not to sit beside her, instead hunching on the railing like a gargoyle. This was their routine. Sometimes they sat together on the stairs, sometimes they lay on the swinging bench, sometimes they just leaned against the side of the house. Tonight they did so in silence. Last night they’d gossiped about Rebecca and how rumor had it she’d blown John and Devin at the same time, and what that meant for the reputations of all involved. The conversation had been carried more by Timmy, with Brittany nodding and hming along. He wasn’t wrong, she just had nothing to add.

After a few minutes, Timmy spoke. Where’s your dad’s car?

Hm? she said.

He’s usually back by now.

Brittany leaned against the railing. He and Mom are visiting relatives out of town. They took his car.

Oh, your relatives in Winston-Salem, yeah?

Yeah.

Why didn’t you go?

I have my SAT prep class tomorrow. It meets on Saturday mornings. At eight. Ugh.

Ugh, Timmy agreed. So... that means you have the house to yourself.

I do, she said.

They sat in silence for a while longer. The porch offered some privacy from Brittany’s parents; they could speak in low tones and not worry about being overheard and scolded. That no longer applied, and yet they remained.

After a few moments, Brittany got up and unlocked the house. She entered without even looking back to Timmy; she knew he’d follow.

The kitchen light was on, as always, and Brittany found the living room light switch in the dimness, turning the late evening murk outside to nighttime-dark as her eyes adjusted to the brightness.

Hey, got anything for dessert? he asked.

Ice cream. In the freezer.

A clatter from the bowl and spoon rang out. The freezer door rustled as it slid out. Get some for me too, please, she said.

Sure.

Timmy vaulted over the back of the couch a few moments later and sat beside her, a giant bowl of ice cream in hand. Two spoons stuck out from it like an old-fashioned TV antenna.

Timmy gave her eyes as they ate. Brittany tried to ignore them. She knew what he was hoping for already; the gaze only pressured her more, made her more uncomfortable with the idea. Still uneasy about how close she lived to such a large source of death, however, she was quite decided she didn’t want to spend the night all alone in her house. Even now, with only two rooms lit, it seemed dark and scary. She imagined herself trying to go to sleep, locked in her room, the house dark and creaking around her. That would not do.

She had a solution. I don’t feel comfortable sleeping alone in the house tonight, she said.

Timmy smiled. I can fix that. Let me just call my parents, yeah?

Brittany nodded, but put her hand on his forearm as he stood and reached for his pocket. Just sleeping though. Nothing more. I’m still not quite ready for... that.

Just sleeping? You sure?

She shook her head. Yeah. I’m sure.

He smiled at her. Okay then. Let me just call my parents and give them an excuse.

Timmy took a large spoonful of ice cream and ate it as he stood up and stretched, and then dropped the spoon in the bowl as he turned to go outside.

After the first few spoonfuls, Brittany had lost interest in the ice cream. She ate it slowly, gazing out the back window at the river.

Another soft white light began to glow, this time over the water. Brittany stood up, setting the bowl on the coffee table. She moved to the library room window; the room was still in darkness so she could see outside easily.

It must be a boat whose navigation lights were out. The people on board needed to know that. She unlocked the back door and walked down her backyard, past the trampoline and the shed, all the way out onto the dock. The boat was all the way across the sound. She would have to yell, but at this time of night? She didn’t want to wake the neighbors.

With a sigh, she returned to the house. They’d figure out their navigation lights were broken when they returned to dock. No need to make a fuss at this hour.

I thought Nell Cropsey’s ghost had gone and hauled you off, Timmy said when she returned. He was sitting on the couch polishing off the last of the ice cream.

So your parents bought it?

Mhm, hook, line, and sinker. He made the motion of casting a fishing rod with his spoon hand.

How about we watch a movie then?

There’s a CSI re-run going on, how about that, yeah?

Brittany did not particularly want to watch CSI, but she capitulated in the end. They watched TV while cuddling until around midnight, when Brittany stood up and stretched. It’s bedtime for me. SAT prep in the morning.

Okay, Timmy said, standing.

"You can keep watching if you like, you don’t have to get up at eight."

No, no, he said, taking her by the waist. Let’s go.

She decided to keep her bra on—uncomfortable as it was—she didn’t want Timmy to get the wrong idea. She put on a long T-shirt over it. He slept in only his boxers.

About three minutes after they’d settled in, Timmy whispered to her in the darkness. Brittany, he said.

I’m trying to sleep, what is it?

His hand, drawn over her stomach, moved upwards until it brushed her breasts. Brittany, you’re beautiful, he said.

Thank you, Timmy, she said. I really need to get to sleep though. She felt his length throb a bit against her rear.

C’mon, he said. It won’t take long.

She shifted her weight away from him and began to get up. I’ll go sleep on the couch.

No! His arms still around her, he pulled her back.

Timmy let go!

They struggled for a few moments; then he was kissing her, and she, eyes wide, had frozen. In the struggle her bra had been pulled down and his hands found her chest.

Timmy was right. It didn’t take long.

They lay together afterwards. Brittany was afraid to move. Gentle snoring filled the room, Timmy’s chest rising and falling. Brittany’s eyes remained wide open, staring at the far wall, trying not to think about the touch of his arm on her body right now or his presence behind her. She watched the minutes crawl by on the clock.

At 2:28 AM, she stood up and fled the room, closing the door behind her.