George Singleton provides a long list of supernatural encounters for Halloween adventurers

Black Elk in 1937.

(For decades, local historian and paranormal investigator George “Buster” Singleton published a weekly newspaper column called “Somewhere in Time.” The column below, which was titled “Halloween passes but the spirits of the past remain” was originally published in the Nov. 2, 2000 edition of The Monroe Journal in Monroeville, Ala.)

As the last day of October passed into oblivion and the pale light of the Hunter’s Moon casts its ghostly shadow across the crisp night skies, the stories of ancient spirits that continue to roam the area around us still comes to mind.

Although Halloween has passed from among us, the spirits of another time continue to roam the old, abandoned roads and forgotten home places and cry out from the past, begging to be remembered.

As the cool late autumn winds push forth the lengthening shadows across the hill country of this area, the hair-raising stories of the supernatural that have been passed down from generation to generation take on a special meaning. The local tales of ghosts and wandering spirits continue to cause the hair along the back of the neck to stand up and tingle.

The cool nights and the effects of the creeping shadows cause a feeling of adventure and a desire to go forward and seek out and discover. It is a desire to see for yourself the specters that roam the deliriums of darkness as the forgotten places where life and happiness and often sadness once prevailed.

To lie hidden by an old, abandoned road in the northern part of the county on a pale, moonlit night and wait for the sounds of clattering hooves as the headless horseman rides down the old, abandoned road through the chilled midnight air is beyond describing. The cold feeling of the damp air as the horse and headless rider pass close enough that you can reach out and touch the sweaty sides of the galloping horse will make the blood run cold.

Or to lie beside another abandoned road in the pale hours of shadowy darkness and listen for the sound of the wheels of the phantom stagecoach as it makes its midnight run along the path of yesterday.

Watch as the phantom driver reels to and fro as he sits atop the driver’s seat, nodding to the rhythm of the rattling harness of the phantom horses as they make their way down the old, abandoned road.

As the phantom stagecoach passes your hiding place, look up into the window of the stagecoach and into the eyes of a ghost lady who is wearing a bonnet. Watch as she slowly raises her gloved hand as though in a faint gesture of a ghostly greeting. Listen as the stagecoach rumbles down the steep, curved hill and hear the iron tires of the coach’s wheels rattle across the old, abandoned wooden bridge above the large creek, there in the shadowy moonlight.

If by now, you have not had your fill of the mysteries of the past, you might want to visit the hanging tree, or sit atop the high hill where the ghostly wailing music of a phantom organ rides the winds.

Listen as the faint ghostly music floats across the high hill as the glowing rays of the setting sun vanish in the western skies. Or perhaps you would prefer to see the strange ghostly mystery lights that roam the areas of Franklin or Finchburg in the quietness of the dark hours of the evening.

As the grand finale, you can choose between the famed ghost riders of McConnico or listen to the wailing of the crying child as the sounds of an infant in distress fade into oblivion in the deep woods behind an old, abandoned homestead.

Perhaps you would want to go to an old, forgotten cemetery in the northeastern part of the county and wait there in the late moonlight hours to see a tall, ghostly gentleman dressed in a long coat and a top hat walk among the grave markers in search of the grave of his long, lost love.

Watch him as he kneels by a grave marker near the middle of the cemetery. Watch him as he removes his top hat and bows his head as though weeping at the loss of his loved one.

Continue to watch as the ghostly figure slowly gets to his feet, taking a few steps away from the grave of his bride of a day. Watch closely as he walks to the edge of the cemetery and disappears into thin air.

Each of the tales of the supernatural brings to mind the thoughts of a little known poet of the area, as the following words play on the imagination.

Walk with me into the past
That was yesterday.
Hold my hand for I fear;
The evening winds sigh with mystery;
And the ghosts of an earlier time
Speak of their tragedies.

Do not take lightly these tales of misfortune
For somewhere in time, you, too
May join the ranks of those who wander
In the night and ride
Forever on the winds of oblivion.

The ghosts and spirts of the past do not appear and disappear with the coming and going of Halloween. Whether it be spring or autumn, winter or summer, these wandering spirits continue to roam the area that they were associated with in their past lives.

To witness these happenings, you must be willing to spend much time along in the deep shadows of the backwoods.

You will be many times wet and cold and almost eaten up by various insects. Often times, you will have the living daylights frightened out of you.

Hours and hours of waiting are only a minor sacrifice. Call it what you will, another dimension, a parallel to the unknown, or whatever, but there is something that is yet to be searched out and explained.

But take it from me. If you spend the time in search of the supernatural, somewhere along the dim trails in the shadows of yesterday, these spirits of the past wait, for whatever the reason.

Black Elk, a medicine man of the Lakota Sioux Indian tribe during the late 1800s, was said to be an authority of the mysterious ghosts of the past. He was asked about the spirit world and the meaning of death.

His answer was: “Death? There is no death, only a change of worlds.”

Perhaps these words have more meaning than we will ever come to realize in this life.

(Singleton, the author of the 1991 book “Of Foxfire and Phantom Soldiers,” passed away at the age of 79 on July 19, 2007. A longtime resident of Monroeville, he was born to Vincent William Singleton and Frances Cornelia Faile Singleton, during a late-night thunderstorm, on Dec. 14, 1927 in Marengo County, graduated from Sweet Water High School in 1946, served as a U.S. Marine paratrooper in the Korean War, worked as a riverboat deckhand, lived for a time among Apache Indians, moved to Monroe County on June 28, 1964 and served as the administrator of the Monroeville National Guard unit from June 28, 1964 to Dec. 14, 1987. He was promoted from the enlisted ranks to warrant officer in May 1972. For years, Singleton’s columns, titled “Monroe County history – Did you know?” and “Somewhere in Time” appeared in The Monroe Journal, and he wrote a lengthy series of articles about Monroe County that appeared in Alabama Life magazine. It’s believed that his first column appeared in the March 25, 1971 edition of The Monroe Journal. He also helped organize the Monroe County Museum and Historical Society and was also a past president of that organization. He is buried in Pineville Cemetery in Monroeville. The column above and all of Singleton’s other columns are available to the public through the microfilm records at the Monroe County Public Library in Monroeville. Singleton’s columns are presented here each week for research and scholarship purposes and as part of an effort to keep his work and memory alive.)