Fear and Loathing in Claiborne: Part Four

Dozens of questions ran through my mind as I examined the old flyleaf inscribed with the coded message. Why would someone slide it under my office door in the dead of night? Why would someone write the message in a cipher composed of letters in an almost-forgotten occult language?

Claire ran a white-gloved index finger over a line of the ghostly text, and I observed that none of the ink came off the page. "Are you familiar with runes?" she asked as she brought the tip of her finger to her nose and sniffed. "In addition to being a means of communication, the Norse thought they were imbued with magic."

Claire passed the magnifying glass to me, and I bent over the light table for a closer look. "The ink looks unusual," I said. The hellbent letters were written in an almost blackish green of backwards horseshoes and loops.

"It's what the Piachi called bee's blood," Claire said. "Some of the almost incomprehensible works of Saint John, Karl Ruprecht Kroenen and John Keel were written in the same thing. Exact recipe unknown. I've read about it, but never seen it in person. Careful not to touch it without gloves.

"No matter how complex or obscure the message, I think your next step is clear," she said. "I'm sure the June 5, 1863 edition of The Herald can be found at the Claiborne State University library."

I'd visited the CSU library hundreds of times, and I'd had many misadventures there that I would prefer to forget. While not widely known, the library's Archive of Special Literature contains Alabama's finest collection of ancient parchments, old palimpsests, clay tablets and Pnakotic manuscripts. Those works attract scholars from around the world and not always for harmless, academic reasons.

Claire pulled off her gloves and tossed them onto the light table. "To keep questions down, go now." From her breast pocket, she produced an old iron key topped with a stylized skeleton with crossed arms.

I parked in a vacant lot a hundred yards from the library and kept to the shadows as much as possible on my approach. The campus is riddled with surveillance cameras, and I was sure that the fact that I was entering the building was being caught on camera. I skirted the wide stone steps leading up to the main entrance and made my way to a lesser-known side door that served as an entrance for the building's custodial staff.

This was the only entrance that didn't require an electronic key card. I pulled Claire's skeleton key from my hip pocket and slid it into the old door's keyhole. I turned the key and tried the knob, but nothing happened.

Suddenly and without warning, the door opened inward with such speed that I was left holding the key in my shaking right hand. A man's face, unshaven and perfumed with cheap whiskey, appeared a few inches from my nose. I instinctively reached for my Beretta.

"What the hell took you so long?" the man said. The stitched patch over his breast pocket said "Patrick." "Claire said you were on your way, but I didn't sign up to wait on you all night." In response to my stunned, puzzled look, he said, "She's my niece," ushering me in roughly without another word.

I followed close behind as Patrick led me deeper into the dark building. I followed him around a corner and down a flight of stairs that ended in a padlocked iron door. He produced a large ring of keys and began to search for the one that fit the lock. Over his stooped shoulders, I saw that the placard on the door: Hard Copy Newspaper Morgue.

Patrick eventually found the correct key and inserted it in the rusty lock. It opened with a loud "snick," and he pushed the door open, groping around in the darkness until he found a long, thin string of butcher's twine overhead. He pulled it and a single, naked bulb flickered on with a click.

My eyes fell upon shelf after shelf of dusty bound volumes that extended into the darkness beyond the reach of the dim bulb overhead. "She's all yours," Patrick said. Without another word, he about-faced and departed, hanging the open padlock in its hasp on his way out the door.

I grabbed one of the large bound volumes from the nearest shelf and propped it against the door to make sure it didn't accidentally close behind me. The book's spine said it contained newspapers from 1935. I then lifted the open padlock from its hasp and dropped it in my hip pocket. I had no plans to get locked inside.

From my other hip pocket I produced a small flashlight and shined its narrow beam along the shelves as I searched for the volume containing papers from 1863. It was a small miracle that these papers even existed. Printed during the War Between the States on sub-quality paper, they should have been transferred to microfilm years ago. Question was, why hadn't they been put into a form where they would have been more accessible to the public?

I searched the dusty shelves for the better part of half an hour before my eye fell on the 1863 volume. It had been pushed behind another stack of bound volumes and was shrouded in ancient cobwebs. The covers of the large book were also secured together with an old brass lock that I was able to knock off with several well-placed strokes from the butt of my flashlight. 

I set the large volume on the floor and began carefully turning the yellowed pages until I reached the papers published in June of that year. Front page news the first week of that month included stories on a rampaging yellow-fever epidemic. Unexpectedly, my eyes also fell on more than a few notes scribbled in the ciphered runes that had covered the old flyleaf I'd shown Claire.

These cryptic notes centered around a story regarding a pair of unusual twins. The story said that they'd been smuggled up river in a locked chest to avoid the yellow fever quarantine. When the parents opened the rune-inscribed chest they found one gangrenous twin dead, while his sister was perfectly healthy, despite the five-day trip without food or water from Mobile to Claiborne.

The story noted that the black-haired girl was named Lilith. When the authorities opened the chest, she was found sucking her thumb. Her unfortunate brother's body was inexplicably bloodless as if his lifeblood had been drained from his body.

Suddenly and without warning, the sound of a closing door caused me to jump to my feet. A second later, the weak overhead bulb went out and my handheld flashlight flickered off. In the next moment, my ears were met by the sound of ponderous steps in the darkness.

(All rights reserved. This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.)

The Evergreen Courant's Sports Flashback for June 16, 2025

34 YEARS AGO
JUNE 20, 1991

Members of the 1991 13-year-old Babe Ruth All-Stars were announced Saturday night. Team members are Reggie Boykin, Tommy Byrd, Josh Scott; Lavon Merrills, Detrick Womack, James Johnson, Kevin Riley and Chad Wilson. Not pictured are Joey Griffin, Henry Holt, Lewis Lowe and Gabriel Potts. The team will represent Conecuh County during the area tournament, June 27, in Brewton. They will face Atmore’s all-star team at 7:30 p.m.

The Most Valuable Player trophies were handed out Saturday night at the Evergreen Municipal Park for the Babe Ruth Baseball League. The MVP winner for the 14-15 year olds was Rhett Wilson. Shannon Shufford was the runner-up. The winner of the MVP award for the 13-year-olds was Detrick Womack. The runner-up is to Detrick’s right, Reggie Boykin.

Members of the 14-15-year-old all-star team was announced Saturday night. The Evergreen Babe Ruth All-Stars will play South Monroe’s all-stars in Atmore, July 5, at 7:30 p.m. Team members are as follows: Sedrick Fluker, Shannon Sims, Eric Owens, Matthew Jones, Marlo McDaniel, Rhett Wilson, Willie Womack, Robert Ball, Isaac McMillan, Shannon Shufford, Britt Ward, Bryant Robinson, Steven Bledsoe and Robert Rabren.

46 YEARS AGO
JUNE 21, 1979

Bill Cope wins Stuart Trophy: Bill Cope, who graduated with the Class of 1979, won one of the most coveted athletic awards at Sparta Academy for the 1978-79 school year when he was presented the D.T. Stuart Jr. Sportsmanship Trophy. The presentation took place during graduation exercises on May 24.
Bill, son of Mr. and Mrs. Sam Cope, North Main Street, earned letters in football his last four years at Sparta. He played primarily as an offensive lineman until his senior year when he was outstanding on both offense and defense “in the trenches.”
The Stuart Trophy, awarded here for over 30 years, is highly desired because the winner is determined by the vote of members of the football team. His Warrior teammates chose Bill for the high honor.
It is interesting to recall that Bill’s father, an outstanding two-way tackle on some of Evergreen High School’s better football teams in the 1950s, also won the Stuart Sportsmanship Trophy his senior year.
Tal Stuart Jr. began awarding the trophy in the late 1940s to encourage hard, but fair, play by local football players.

Trip Hendrix and Wayne Harrelson share the honors on this trophy bass. The fish was 24 inches long and weighed 8-1/8 pounds. Trip and Wayne said they caught this big one “out of the water.”

61 YEARS AGO
JUNE 18, 1964

Despite a six-run Brave second inning, the determined Pirates would not be denied and kept fighting back until they emerged victorious 8-7 Thursday night.
The big Brave second inning was highlighted by two RBIs by Jud Stinson and a run-scoring triple by Johnny Brown. The Pirates began to roll in the third inning as they pushed across three runs, the big blow of the inning being Eddie Thornley’s triple. In the fifth inning, the Pirates struck for two more runs on Glenn Bolton’s double after Hicks and Thornley had walked.
The Braves rallied for a run in the sixth as Gray Sullivan reached first base on an error, moved to third and scored on a passed ball. In the seventh inning, the Pirates wrapped it up as Eddie Thornley singled, stole second and third, and came home on a single by Benny Burt. Tommy Chapman started for the Pirates and was relieved by Wayne Hicks in the sixth. Johnny Brown started and took the loss for the Braves. Wayne Hicks got the win.

Coach Shirley Frazier, director of the Evergreen Recreation Department’s summer program is asking for instructors for a baseball clinic. Clinic instruction will be on catching, pitching, infield and outfield. Coach Frazier said that the clinic will be held from 8 to 10 on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday of next week. Anyone interested in helping with the clinic can contact Frazier at the Evergreen Pool.

Gary Faulkner and Ronnie Elliot combined to pitch the Tigers past the Indians as they scattered three hits and provided the difference in a 5-2 Tiger win. The Tigers started their scoring early in the game as Bubba Faulkner was hit by a pitch, stole second and came home on a wild pick-off attempt.

75 YEARS AGO
JUNE 15, 1950

The Evergreen Golf Club’s second annual handicap golf tournament will begin Thursday afternoon, June 22. The tournament is open to all club members and any person in Conecuh County interested in playing.
Entry fees and qualifying scores should be turned in to one of the following tournament committee members: Knud Nielsen Jr., Roy Pace or Herman Bolden.
Billy Carleton won last year and is expected to be on hand to defend his title.

Mr. and Mrs. Jack Newman spent the weekend in Pensacola, and Mr. Newman played in a golf tournament while there.

Following a custom that has prevailed for the past several years, the Brewton baseball team will again observe “Evergreen Night” on June 28, in appreciation of the fine support of many fans who attend the games there.
Jess Taylor of Brewton, who arranges this event each year, was in Evergreen Tuesday making the final plans. He informs The Courant that Check Ellis, local boy pitching for Brewton, will be on the mound that night as the Millers face Andalusia.

85 YEARS AGO
JUNE 20, 1940

J.C. Hamilton, local businessman, exhibited in front of his shop Wednesday morning a large bob cat that he and his dogs killed while engaged in hunting fox Tuesday. The cat was reddish brown in appearance and measured 31 inches from his nose to the tip of his tail. He stood 16 inches high. Hamilton and his 12 dogs happened upon the animal close to McGehee’s farm between here and Tomlinson’s Mill.

George Singleton tells of remarkable sunrise in January 1995

George Buster Singleton

(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 “When all else fails to make you feel better, try a sunrise,” was originally published in the Jan. 19, 1995 edition of The Monroe Journal in Monroeville, Ala.)

Many people do many things to gain peace of mind and to have a few moments of total contentment. They travel great distances and spend considerable amounts of money to experience these times of peace within themselves.

I don’t confess to be smart, but I think man can find no greater peace within himself than to seek out a place where he can witness God’s creation around him. In selecting this place, he must feel that he is a part of his surroundings and that the passage of time has no meaning.

So it was with me, Sunday, Jan. 8. As I have stated many times in my writings, I have some sad memories of a past Christmas. Needing to try and clear my mind of those memories, I arose early that Sunday and headed out, seeking a place where peace of mind and nature’s surroundings would be my companions.

The crisp early-morning air brought tears to my eyes as I headed north toward the hill country. As I sped out of town, I didn’t know just what awaited me there in the distance, but I knew that whatever it was, it would be wonderful and refreshing.

Turning off the paved road onto the trail that would carry me to my destination, I knew I had made the right decision. The eastern skies had already begun to lighten with the approaching dawn.

I hurried to that spot where the view of the huge valley spread before me. Looking across the vastness below, I knew that the passage of time meant nothing to anything in these surroundings except myself. I knew that perhaps a thousand years had passed without the vastness before me changing. Man was the only thing that had changed; the small part of the creation before me was as it had always been.

Hoping to halt the movement of time within this place of peace, I removed my wristwatch and placed it in my pocket. I knew if you could look back across the spaces of time, the view that I was seeing was probably the same that it had been a thousand or so years ago. I began to realize once again just how small man is in this place we call our universe.

Looking to my right, the eastern skies had begun to burst forth with the magnitude of the rising sun. The reddish purple clouds rolled forth as though some giant unseen hand was gently pushing them aside, making way for the huge ball of light that was slowly beginning to bring light to a darkened world.

As the bright rays of the rising sun slowly pierced the hanging shadows across the huge valley, the timber below seemed to reach up toward the heavens as though trying to grasp the bright glowing shafts of the morning sunrise.

As the rising sun slowly pushed the shadows from the vast valley below, the purplish hills in the distance seemed to rise up from nowhere and take their place on the distant horizon. As I stood there and marveled at the spectacle I was witnessing, I realized that everything was being done in perfect and complete detail. Not even the smallest particle of the event had been overlooked or left out. The planning had been perfect; the God and creator of all the universe had seen to that.

Across the valley, the brightness of the coming morning seemed to give life to everything that grew. As far as the eye could see, the sounds of the morning grew in magnitude as if all life below had awakened from a deep sleep.

The vastness of the creation before me was something to behold. As I watched the changing of the morning colors, I knew that I, too, had been changed. Instead of sad memories from the past, I now felt refreshed and eager to witness and be a part of the happenings around me. I had journeyed to my special place of healing; the trip had not been in vain.

The great ball of reddish fire in the eastern sky had now risen above the distant horizon. The red and purple haze was fast fading from across the hilltops. The hilltops in the distance now stood as guardian sentinels for the valley below. Morning had now come to the world around me. A new day had been born in its fullness, and I had been a witness to its birth.

With deep regret, I knew that regardless of the timeless beauty around me, I, as man on this earth, had a schedule to live by. To live in harmony with my fellow man, I had to abide with the rules and the time table set forth for man to follow. A bit of sadness came over me as I reached into my pocket and brought forth the instrument that the total human race hinges its life and activities on.

Looking at the face of my watch, I knew that I must go from the scenic place of beauty and return to my place in life. Other lives now entwined with mine; their happiness and well being were now a part of my responsibility.

With one last look across the beautiful deep valley, I raised my arms toward the heavens and recited the prayer of an ancient Wind Walker, or Indian Holy Man.

O Great Spirit, give me strength
That I may stroll across the land
And marvel at thy creation
And the beauty before me.
Guide my steps to where the wild flowers
Sway in the morning winds.
Let me smell the fragrance
Of the beautiful goldenrods,
As I rest in the shade of the mighty cottonwood.
Let me know thy presence, as I feel
The bark of the birch tree while I view
The heavens above me. Let me rest
Under the tall pines of the mountain,
While listening to the lullaby of the winds.
Give me sight so I may see the fowls
Of the air as they wing their way
To the lofty heights. Let me view
The mighty eagle as he rides the winds
Of the evening and soars into the
Shadows of the setting sun.
And when the shadows of this life gather
On the distant horizon, and I stand in thy presence,
Let me be judged for my love of thy
Beauty and thy creation.

(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, was bitten at least twice by venomous snakes, 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.)

100-year-old news headlines from June 1925 editions of The Wilcox Progressive Era

Today marks the first Thursday of the month, so it’s time to take another trip back down memory lane for a look at some of the interesting things that happened in Wilcox County a century ago, way back in June 1925.

In the June 4, 1925 edition of The Wilcox Progressive Era, editor Stanley Clifford Godbold reported that “Mrs. Annie Mason and daughter, Mrs. Lawler, of Furman spent several days the past week with Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence Stuart. Mrs. Mason is pleasantly remembered as Miss Annie Lee, who taught school for one year in Camden in 1889, when Prof. J.A. Liner was principal. This was her first visit since then, and the improvements and progress of our community were very noticeable to her.”

Readers that week also learned that “Master Hugh Dale received the scholarship medal for the highest average in the Wilcox County High School for the past session. This medal was given by the Camden Study Club. Miss Camilla Jones received the medal for the highest grade in history, which was given by the Lt. Joseph M. Wilcox Chapter, Daughters of the American Revolution, in memory of the late Rev. Frances Tappey, D.D., who was an ardent lover of history.”

In the June 11, 1925 edition of The Progressive Era, it was reported that “Prof. Walter Jackson, principal of the Wilcox County High School, is spending the month of June in Camden, and is domiciled with Mrs. C.V. Beck.”

Readers also learned that “Messrs. James Miller, Sam Jones and Pinkston Albritton arrived Saturday from Due West, South Carolina, where they were students at Erskine College. They came through the country in a small Ford, making the trip in two days.”

In the June 18, 1925 edition of the newspaper, it was reported that “Master Fleetwood Hollinger had the misfortune last Sunday afternoon of losing his saddle pony. It was killed by lightning while grazing in the pasture near his home.”

Readers that week also learned that “Dr. Dale is a brother of Messrs. Frank and Julius Dale of Oak Hill and has been a missionary in Mexico for about 25 years. He hopes he will visit the churches in Camden and Oak Hill while in this country.”

In the June 25, 1925 edition of the paper it was reported that “Mr. H.A. Holt, better known as ‘Dr. Jack,’ left Wednesday morning for Graceville, Fla., where he has accepted a position as reporter on the Graceville News. Dr. Jack is a fine writer and we feel sure that the readers of the Graceville News will be highly pleased with his write-ups. Dr. Jack has many Wilcox County friends who join the Progressive Era in wishing him much success in his new place of business.”

Readers that week also learned that “on June 16^th, a large and enthusiastic crowd gathered in town to witness the sale of the late Hon. Sol D. Bloch property. The auction of this property was under the management of the Britt Davis Auction Co. of Columbia, Tenn., and was done in such an efficient manner that the property brought the sum of $26,306.35. Much interest and fun was aroused by the throwing of dimes and dollars to the large children following the auctioneer.”

Well, I guess that’s all that space will allow for this month. On the first Thursday of next month, I plan to take a look at the events of July 1925 in Wilcox County. Until then, if you get the urge to research the county’s past yourself, take advantage of the Alabama Department of Archives and History’s excellent selection of old newspapers on microfilm and other resources. Their friendly staff will be more than happy to get you started.