(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 “Evening spent listening to the
sounds of the night” was originally published in the Aug. 12, 1993 edition of
The Monroe Journal in Monroeville, Ala.)
Very few of us take the time to stop and listen to the
sounds around us. Just this past Thursday night, I did exactly that. My wife
had to be away in Montgomery for a couple of days for a training seminar so I decided
that this was the opportune time to venture forth on one of my nighttime
excursions and listen to the sounds of the night.
There are not many places within this county that I haven’t
been from time to time, listening, looking and trying to find something that
has been overlooked by the local folks who travel the back roads of the area.
So, after 7 p.m., after receiving a telephone call from my
better half, I headed north to the Red Hills area for a few hours of listening
and speculating.
Due to the weather I had to leave my motorcycle behind. The clouds
and the rain warned me that it would be a cold, wet night if I chose to travel
by motor bike. So, after packing a snack and something cold to drink, I headed
up Highway 41 and on to the community of Franklin.
No traffic
As you might have guessed, I was not bothered with heavy
traffic after I turned eastward on the gravel road beyond the store at Franklin.
The shadows of the late evening had begun to dance across the open spaces as
though playing hide and seek with the thunder clouds from the earlier rain
storm.
In the distance, the rumble of thunder could be heard as an occasional
flicker of lightning brightened up the distant horizon. The lightning gave the
impression of dancing lights on some distant stage, preparing the audience for
the coming performance.
Slowly, I made my way up into the area that used to be the
Red Hills community. Off to my right on a high ridge, I remembered spending
most of a night there a couple of years ago watching for a mystery light that I
had been told had been seen there.
I remembered the excitement I experienced when finally the
dull glowing ball of light slowly rose from one of the ravines and seemed to
roll its way slowly across the hillside.
As I passed the Red Hills Cemetery, I thought of the past
lives of those that slept here; the joys and hardships of this early country
community. I thought of the many times that my friend, Oscar Wiggins, and I
journeyed this way. I thought of the many stories that had been related to me
about his family who had settled in this area long before the Civil War.
Tomb of ancestor
And, there in the pale light, I could almost see the tomb of
his ancestor, who had fought in that terrible war, only to return and spend the
rest of his life here among these red hills he loved so much.
Parking my vehicle atop the high hill about a half mile beyond
the cemetery, I positioned it so I could view the distant valley to the east. I
settled down for a period of listening and looking for sights and sounds. I
knew not what I would see or hear.
Lowering the windows of my vehicle, the steady sounds of a
light rain played a lullaby on the trees around me. And, in the eastern skies,
the rumble of the distant thunder and the red glow of the lightning broke the
quietness of the early darkness.
In the distance, I could see a faint glow of light in the
valley below me. Due to the early rains of the late afternoon, I knew that I
was seeing the much-talked-about ancient foxfire, often referred to by early
country folks. Many stories about this mystery light had been told around the
fireplaces during the cold winter nights by the early settlers.
As I watched the dim lights in the large valley below me, I
remembered, too, the many stories told to me as a child, by a tall, dark-haired
woman, my grandmother, about this mystery light. I remembered being afraid to
go to my bedroom, after some of these stories she told me.
As I sat and watched the display before me, a coyote howled,
off to my left. Down the hill aways, came the answering call of its mate.
Within seconds, the whole night around me seemed to come alive with the calls
of these wild coyotes.
I have heard these calls many times, but I don’t mind
confessing that weird sound from the darkness caused the hair on the back of my
neck to bristle and stand up. To add to the commotion, a screech owl in a tree
across the road from me, screamed out into the night. This didn’t help matters
any.
I quickly reached over and raised the off-side door glass of
my vehicle. Quietness settled across the hill after the hair-raising call of
the screech owl. It seemed as though the wild coyotes understood the chilling
call, as if they had been warned to be quiet. But, the hilltop wasn’t quiet for
long. Over to my left, a couple of hoot owls began to scold each other.
Coyote disagreement
It seemed as if a terrible argument or disagreement had come
between them. Back and forth they scolded. Finally, one gave up the argument
and flew off into the darkness.
Looking at my watch, I realized the hour of midnight was
just minutes away. A lone coyote, down the hill aways, had begun to howl, as
the winds of the night rattled the leaves on the trees around me. The screech
owl screamed out again, as though to tell the coyote to shut up.
This time, it had no effect. From across the hill, it seemed
that the night air came alive with the howls of the wild coyotes. The entire
hillside seemed covered with activity. Perhaps the time had come for the coyote
pack to gather and bed down for the night. I wondered if this was the same pack
that occupied the old cave in the hill back aways to the northwest.
Starting the engine of my vehicle, I turned on to the narrow
road that would carry me back to Highway 41 and to my awaiting bed within the
safety and security of home.
As I made my way along the narrow road, I realized once
again how small man’s place is in this vast universe we’ve come to call ours.
We think we are in control, but we are badly fooled.
(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 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.)
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