(Transcribed by TurboScribe.ai. Go Unlimited to remove this message.) Night has fallen, and the moon is a
glowing golden orb in the black sky.
See how it shines on the dark back
roads of America, and on one road in
particular.
Come with us, and we'll take a walk
down the moonlit road, for the night is
waiting.
And the moon is full.
Hi, this is LaDoris Bias Davis.
And the story I'm going to tell you
is called, Why is a Jack-O-Lantern
Named Jack?
And if you stick around until the end,
I'll tell you where this story came from.
Ever wonder why the name Jack and the
phrase Jack-O-Lantern come from?
Why is it once a year, we gorge
out the innards of these poor fruits, yes
they are fruits, carve an evil looking face
and put a candle inside?
But, who is this Jack fellow anyway?
Well, down on the South Carolina coast, the
low country route doctors used to tell a
story about Jack, and why we place Jack
-O-Lanterns outside our homes each Halloween.
As you might expect, the devil is involved.
Many years ago, an old handyman named Jack
lived in a small town outside Charleston.
Jack was not an honorable craftsman, and often
did substandard work.
But, he was the only game in town
when something needed fixing.
So folks tolerated his bullying and shakedown tactics
for at least a time.
But as competitors moved into town, offering higher
quality work at fair prices, folks stopped calling
on Jack.
So Jack became a bitter drunk, often seen
stomping through the streets of town, hands thrust
in his pocket, a scowl on his face.
People crossed to the other side of the
street to avoid him.
But there was someone who saw an opportunity
in befriending old Jack, and that's the devil
himself.
So, the devil convinced Jack to meet him
one hot summer night at a crossroad deep
in the swamp.
It was there the devil made Jack an
offer.
For the next seven years, he would make
Jack the richest, most successful craftsman in all
of South Carolina.
But after that time, Jack would agree to
give his soul to the devil.
Now you may be asking, why would someone
take such a bad deal?
Well, like I said, Jack was not an
honorable man.
He had no intention of honoring that deal.
When the time came, he figured he'd weasel
himself out of it.
So seven years passed, and just like the
devil promised, Jack became obscenely rich.
His competitors had a funny way of disappearing
overnight.
The townspeople were back in Jack's world of
high prices and shoddy work.
Each night, Jack would be seen in the
local tavern laughing heartily at all the
stupid people who dared question his work ethic.
But Jack's time ran out, so the devil
came calling to his large woodworking shop.
Uts benowing to the devil, Jack had long
planned for this moment.
I've come to collect, Jack, hits the devil.
Put your tools down and come with me.
Jack glanced above the devil's head.
Above the doorway, a set of keys hung
on a rusty nail.
Before we go, would you mind grabbing those
keys so I can lock up, asked Jack.
I don't want nobody taking my tools.
The devil reached up for the keys.
Quick as a gazelle, Jack leapt into a
stepstool, whipped out a hammer, and nailed the
devil's right hand to the doorframe.
Howling with agony, the devil begged Jack to
take out the nail.
Only if you swear to give me five
more years, answered Jack.
Even the devil was more honorable than old
Jack.
So he promised Jack more time.
Jack ripped out the nail and laughed as
the devil stacked it away, rubbing the gory
wound in his hand.
Five years passed.
Once again, the devil came calling for Jack.
This time, he found Jack at the local
tavern, several whiskies in and belligerent as ever.
I've come to collect, Jack, hits the devil.
Pay your bill and come with me.
Jack wobbled off of his barstool, rummaging around
in his pocket.
I'm a little short, glancing at the annoyed
bartender.
Mr. Devil, if you would be so kind
as to turn yourself into a silver coin,
I can pay this fine barkeeper and we
can be on our way.
The devil sighed.
This man's soul, or what there was of
it, wasn't worth the hassle.
But he just wanted to get him off
the ledger.
So the devil transformed into a silver coin.
But as you might expect, Jack didn't pay
the bartender.
Instead, he stuck that coin into his pants
pocket right next to a silver cross he
planted there.
The devil screamed.
His powers were gone.
I'll let you out if you promise never
to take my soul, laughed Jack.
So once again, the devil agreed.
Jack put the coin on the bar and
poof, the devil reappeared in a cloud of
red smoke.
A man of his word.
The devil stormed out, Jack's maniacal laughter ringing
in his ear.
Hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee
hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee
hee hee hee hee hee hee hee.
What the devil could not achieve, Father Time
eventually did.
Jack lived to an old age but died
alone in his sleep.
In the month of October, no friends or
family left.
The relieved townsfolks buried him in an unmarked
grave along the roadside.
But Jack didn't care.
He figured all in all, he'd been a
decent enough fellow in life to earn a
place in heaven.
But St. Peter refused him entry at the
gate and sent Jack back down.
As Jack arrived at the gates of hell,
the devil laughed heartily.
Didn't Jack make him promise never to take
his soul?
Jack had no way to wiggle himself out
of this predicament.
He now knew there was a fate worse
than hell.
At least there he'd have plenty of company.
But wandering the earth alone, as a ghost,
unwanted in either heaven or hell, watching centuries
of life pass him by, that was the
worst fate of all.
He screamed at the devil to let him
in.
Let me in!
But the devil wasn't having it.
He tossed a burning hot coal at Jack
so he could light his way back.
Before he knew it, Jack found himself deep
in the fetid murk of a cypress swamp.
Sloshing his way to town, he stole a
pumpkin from the farmer's field.
He then carved out the inside, put the
hot coal inside, and used that pumpkin as
a makeshift jack-o'-lantern.
Jack had a more sinister mission in the
afterlife.
Townsfolks spotted his lantern floating, vanishing, then reappearing
in the swamp each night.
Drowning, snakebites, alligators, many gruesome fates awaited those
beckoning to the dark swamp by the hellfire
of Jack's lantern.
If he was cursed to wander the earth,
Jack figured he'd take as many people with
him as possible.
As words play, children especially were warned to
stay away from the swamp.
Especially at night, when Jack would return, his
lantern light bobbing playfully amongst the mist and
mossy trees.
Soon the townspeople came up with a plan.
They carved their own jack-o'-lanterns, put
them on their porches each year around Halloween,
and kept the children occupied at home.
Repelled by the light, Jack kept his distance.
With no fresh victims, he was truly alone.
Now some people claim there's an easy explanation
for that mysterious light in the swamp.
Some claim it's a natural phenomenon known as
swamp gas, a wheel of the wisps, phosphorescence
caused by decaying plants in the marsh.
But if you ask me, there's no point
in taking any chances, for that light you
see just might be Jack and his jack
-o'-lantern luring you towards certain death.
You may be wondering, where did this story
come from?
Why is a jack-o'-lantern named Jack?
This story combines well-known African American and
Scots-Irish folktales about the origin of the
jack-o'-lantern.
Irish Halloween traditions date back to the Gaelic
festival of San Juan, which was a special
time between autumn and winter, when the bridge
between the living and the dead was most
easily crossed.
So Irish people lit candles and bonfires to
repel malevolent spirits.
They also dressed in costumes to avoid identification
by these roaming spirits.
As they crossed to America, Irish settlers brought
the tradition of carving jack-o'-lanterns each
Halloween.
They also brought the folktale of Stingy Jack,
a man with a habit of stiffing bartenders.
The tavern scene in our story is inspired
by Stingy Jack, but the Irish version contains
an additional trick where Jack asks the devil
to get an apple out of a tree.
When the devil climbs up, Jack carves a
cross into the trunk so the devil can't
come down.
Early African-Americans in the South assimilated these
tales of Jack and his lantern.
Like the Irish, they believed Jack was a
malevolent spirit, having been refused entry into heaven
and hell.
Many thought he was a deceased loved one.
Others described him as a hairy monster with
the irresistible power to lure people into the
swamp.
Over time, African-Americans created their own folktales
about Jack.
Our scene in the woodshop comes from the
African-American version, as does the scene where
Jack is tempted at the crossroads, a very
common scene in Southern folktales, including the temptation
of famed blues artist Robert Johnson.
We hope you enjoyed this story from the
Moonlit Road podcast.
Please tell your friends, family, complete strangers about
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Visit our website, themoonlitroad.com, for many more
stories not on the podcast.
This episode was adapted from folklore and produced
by Craig Dominey.
Your storyteller was me, LaDoris Bias Davis.
Henry Howard is the sound engineer.
The Moonlit Road podcast is a production of
The Moonlit Road, LLC.
See you next time.
That concludes this walk down the Moonlit Road.
But you can always come back on your
own.
It will be here all year round, brimming
with captivating and spooky tales for the whole
family.
The Moonlit Road can be found on the
World Wide Web at www.themoonlitroad.com.
The stories are always chilling, and the moon
is always full, on The Moonlit Road.