Light Rain and 67° F

With only a few days left before Halloween, the excitement surrounding the observance is escalating. Trick-or-treating, pumpkin carving, carnivals, costume parties, hay rides and haunted houses are in full swing throughout The T&D Region.

But while many people aim for good, old-fashioned fun during Halloween, thrill-seekers take extreme measures this time of year to have the daylights scared out of them. People sneak into abandoned houses and buildings in anticipation of experiencing paranormal sights and sounds, or venture into old graveyards hoping to see wispy, floating, ghostly shapes.

During Halloween, places like old hotels, castles and plantation homes that are reportedly haunted attract visitors seeking chilling encounters. Spending the night on a stretch of haunted beach or historical battlefield is not uncommon at Halloween, and camping out in a spooky forest is a favorite practice among ghost hunters.

South Carolina boasts a rich folklore heritage, and the stories that emerge at Halloween range from entertaining to bone-chilling. There are stories about restless plantation ghosts, hairy swamp creatures, flickering lights, ancient soldiers, ghost dogs and phantom horsemen. Legends about eerie voices and unexplained music abound, as well as tales about old plateye, an evil entity that takes the form of an animal.

For centuries, ghost stories in South Carolina have been related through storytellers or handed down from generation to generation. While much has been written about strange occurrences, many unanswered questions remain.

There are a number of publications available through bookstores and libraries concerning spirits, boogers, haunts and "Boo Daddies" that could scare you silly this Halloween. And there are books that focus entirely on legendary ghosts of the Carolinas.

"The Voice in the Water" is a legend that was published in 1980 in Ellen P. Chaplin's book, "Facts and Legends of Orangeburg County." The story was contributed by Emily Green, and the legend is still popular today. "The Ghost and the Traveling Salesman" is a story that has been handed down through generations, and the amusing ghost story represents the many tales not yet published.

The Voice in the Water

You see a spring of cold, clear water bubbling up from a limestone basin. It forms a little pool, flows a short way in a narrow silver thread, and disappears under a hill. Coming out on the other side with a complaining murmur, it goes on its way in a fairly broad stream until it flows into the Santee River.

It was a soft, spring day many years ago. The maples were a deep pink, and the great cypress trees, which grew in the stream, had just put on a tender green. There was no sound except for the song of a bird. Suddenly, a faint sound, gradually growing more and more distinct, broke the silence, as a dug-out canoe came into sight, paddled by a tall, young Indian. In the prow, idly trailing her hand in the water, was a young Indian girl.

The Indian paddled slowly on, until coming in sight of a group of white men and Indians talking together on the bank. He brought the dug-out up to them with one or two vigorous strokes and greeted an Indian whom he knew.

"These pale faces, Wanhewawa," said the other, returning his greeting, "declare that it is impossible for one to dive under the hill and come out on the other side."

The young Indian laughed, quietly put down his paddle and, without a word, dived into the dark opening where the water bubbled out from the hill. A cry escaped from the lips of the startled girl. Then the calm of the Indian woman enveloped her, and she sat quietly through what seemed an eternity. Finally he appeared over the hill, smiling triumphantly.

One of the white men held up a gorgeous string of beads and pointed to the opening through which the young Indian had just dived. The Indian shook his head and was about to step into the dug-out when he saw his young wife gazing lovingly at the trinkets.

He paused for a moment, looking at the rapt face of the girl, whose eyes showed great desire for the wonderful thing, then signaling to the white man to give it to her, he dove again.

Suddenly, she realized that he had taken the dangerous dive again, purely for her sake this time. A look of terror came over her face, and she gazed imploringly at the clear water that had engulfed him. The minutes passed. No bold hero came down the hill to assure her of his safety; instead there reigned a terrible breathless silence.

Ever afterwards, when the day's work was done, she would steal off and go to the hill under which her young husband was caught. There she would weep and call, "Wanhewawa," until the very water caught the sound, and as it flows, murmurs softly and sadly, "Wanhewawa, Wanhewawa."

The Ghost and the Traveling Salesman

Many years ago in Silver Springs (now Neeses), an old farmstead was situated near Little Beaver Creek. The old clapboard house stood proudly on sandy ground and was shaded by a combination of chinaberry trees, moss-covered oaks, pine trees and other varieties. Built high enough off the ground that a grown man could stand under, children set up play houses beneath the old house and often searched for doodlebugs in the soil.

Constructed before the days of electricity, the old house had wooden window shutters that remained open during the warm weather months and closed in the winter. Water was drawn from a well, and a privy stood out back.

One summer, a traveling salesman with a horse and buggy rented a room at the old house for a week to spend the night while he conducted business in the area.

Sometime during the night, a strange occurrence frightened the salesman and convinced him the house was haunted. At early dawn, the salesman packed up his belongings and prepared to leave -- before the hostess even had time to put a pan of buttermilk biscuits in the oven of the wood-burning stove.

Before the salesman departed, he hastily related this scary tale to the homeowner.

"As I was drifting off to sleep, I became aware of a presence in the room," the salesman began. "I could hear scratching noises, and something appeared to be moving toward the bed from the other side of the room. It was so dark, I couldn't even make out a shape. I called out, but no one answered.

"Suddenly, a heavy weight settled down on my feet, and I was frozen in fear. Unable to move, I shivered under the covers until the first ray of sunlight penetrated the darkness, and the weight finally lifted off me. I jumped out of bed and decided immediately that I must leave this dreadful place."

The homeowner implored the salesman to calm down and stay long enough to enjoy a breakfast of biscuits, cane syrup and heavy cream, but the man took off like a frightened jackrabbit.

The homeowner waited until daylight to carry the breakfast scraps outside where he scraped the crumbs into a metal pan situated near a persimmon tree. He walked around to other side of the house where the bedrooms were located and whistled. In a few minutes, a big raccoon jumped out of an open window and waddled over to the tree.

The homeowner smiled at the raccoon and said, "I told you not to misbehave when we have company."

T&D Features Writer Sonja Gleaton can be reached by e-mail at sgleaton@timesanddemocrat.com or by telephone at 803-533-5540. Discuss this and other stories online at TheTandD.com.

You must be logged in to comment.