(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.
When the Great Depression hit the South back
in the 1930's, it hit the South hard.
Thousands of people wandered from town to town,
hoping to find a job.
Sometimes even leaving their families behind.
But most of the time, all they would
find was another group of people, just like
them, waiting desperately for the next job to
appear.
Some would say Jack was a lucky man.
He was a rebellious young adventure seeker who
left his family a long time ago to
ride the rails, and see as much of
the world as he could.
But even a journeyman had to eat sometime,
and Jack's stomach had been rumbling like an
angry bear lately.
So he knew it was time to finally
hop off the train and find himself a
job, at least for the time being.
One day, Jack's train pulled into the small
town of Abel, Mississippi.
Although it would have been generous to call
it a town, it was really a small
speck in the middle of an endless sea
of dry, barren farmland.
Jack carefully hopped out of the dingy boxcar
that had been his home for the past
few days, and wandered toward a small general
store.
On the wooden porch, he could see a
small gathering of men all looking tired, hungry,
and lost.
"'Howdy, fellas,' said Jack as he sauntered up.
"'You hear of any work around here?' The
men stared blankly at him, as if it
was the most ridiculous question they had ever
heard.
After an awkward pause, one of the men
reluctantly spoke up.
"'Well, you can always go out to the
Davis place.' The other men whirled around and
looked at their friend in disbelief.
"'What kind of work is it?' asked Jack.
"'Well, old man Davis is looking for a
farmhand.
"'He's gotten too old to do most of
the work.
"'I hear he'll give you a room and
food and everything.' One of the other men
suddenly interrupted him and said to Jack, "'I
don't think you'd want that job, mister.' "'Why
not?' asked Jack.
"'Sounds like a good deal to me.' The
men looked at each other again before the
second man replied.
"'Cause everyone who's taken that job ain't lived
to tell about it.' Jack studied the group
for a moment, trying to figure out if
this was a joke or if maybe they're
trying to scare him because they wanted the
job for themselves.
But the grim looks on their faces told
Jack they were dead serious.
"'Why is that?' Jack finally asked.
"'Is this Davis fella some kind of a
slave driver?' "'Nobody knows,' said another one of
the men.
"'All we know is everyone who's gone up
there's been found dead the next morning.
"'There's some strange stuff going on up there.'"
Now Jack wasn't scared easily.
Even as a child, ghost stories and superstitions
that scared other kids seemed silly to him,
he flashed a confident grin and said, "'A
little hard work doesn't scare me.
"'I think I'll take that job, "'and I'd
be mighty obliged if one of you fellas
would give me a ride up there.'" One
of the men shrugged his shoulders and pointed
Jack toward his wagon.
An hour later, they were riding across the
flat and vast Mississippi landscape toward the Davis
home.
The surrounding farmland was so barren and drought
-stricken that Jack thought it looked sort of
like the Arabian Desert.
After all, he had seen it for himself
in an old magazine somebody left on the
train.
Before long, Jack was surprised to see an
oasis in the distance, a small cluster of
lush oak trees in the middle of the
brown fields, a dirt path stretched from the
roadside into the center of this odd, tiny
forest.
The driver pointed at the trees and said,
"'There's the Davis place.
"'Sorry, but I'm going to have to ask
you to walk the rest of the way.'"
Jack could see a flash of fear in
the driver's eyes.
He smiled and thanked him and then hopped
off the wagon toward the Davis home.
The walk up the path seemed to stretch
on forever, but as Jack neared the grove
of trees, he saw an ominous sight.
On the side of the path was a
tiny graveyard without any headstones, only hastily carved
crosses.
What's worse, each of the graves looked freshly
dug.
Jack finally entered the grove, and compared with
what he had seen so far, it looked
to him like a paradise.
Under the cool shade of the oak trees
stood a pretty white farmhouse, a wide veranda
sweeping around the front.
A small stream gurgled behind the house, giving
the place a relaxing, otherworldly feel.
Excited about his discovery, Jack marched up to
the door and knocked.
After a while, the door creaked open to
a darkened house.
Standing there was a feeble old man in
weathered overalls, his skin tan and leathery from
years in the fields.
He looked through tired, bloodshot eyes at Jack
and said, Can I help you?
Some fellas in town told me you were
looking for a farm hand, said Jack.
I do need a hand around here, said
Mr. Davis, but did those fellas tell you
about the problems we've been having with the
help?
I heard about it, but I ain't scared,
answered Jack with a touch of brashness.
I worked on a farm many a time,
and I'd appreciate the opportunity to work for
you, Mr. Davis sighed and walked out of
the house.
Well, you look like a strong young man.
If you want to work here, that's fine
with me, but don't say you weren't warned.
Mr. Davis then showed Jack to an outbuilding
beside the creek.
Inside was one large, comfortable room with a
bed, a couple of chairs, and a fireplace.
A row of windows stretched across the top
of the room, filling the space with sunlight.
The sound of the water outside was gentle
and soothing.
This is the best deal I've found yet,
Jack thought to himself.
We'll bring you some food to cook on
the hearth, said Mr. Davis, as he slowly
turned towards the door.
There ain't no power out here, but when
the moon's out, you'll get plenty of light.
You've had a long journey, so just make
yourself comfortable and you can start work tomorrow.
He then turned around and said in an
ominous voice, Just make sure you're careful.
Jack was so tired from his trip that
he went straight to bed, not giving a
second thought to whatever strange things might be
happening on the farm.
The next day, he went out to work
in the fields.
Hard work never bothered Jack, but the hot
Mississippi sun eventually wore him out.
He returned to his room that evening and
collapsed into a chair.
Beside the fireplace, Jack could see that the
Davis family had left a fat meat bone,
along with some rice, biscuits, and fresh vegetables.
Jack hungrily put the meat bone in a
pan and cooked it on the fire.
He noticed that Mr. Davis was right about
the moonlight.
Between the fire and the bluish shafts of
moonlight streaming into the room, one didn't need
a light bulb.
When the meat had finished cooking, Jack took
out his prized carving knife, cut the meat
into thin slices, and poured the gravy onto
the rice.
Mr. Davis had left a kitchen knife with
the food, but Jack preferred his trusty silver
knife, a knife his grandfather in Georgia had
carried with him while serving in the Confederate
Army.
Jack didn't have many possessions, but his knife
was one thing that stayed with him.
Jack leaned back in his chair and slowly
ate his food, savoring every morsel.
In fact, he was so intent on his
food that it took him a while to
notice that a black cat had somehow entered
the room.
The cat sat at Jack's feet and stared
at him as he ate, looking at him
more with curiosity than hunger.
Being a kind fellow, Jack cut off a
small piece of meat and dropped it on
the floor beside the cat.
But instead of eating it, the cat jumped
onto the arm of Jack's chair, staring down
at his plate.
Jack shrugged his shoulders and resumed eating.
The cat stared at him for a moment,
then tried to stick its paw in the
gravy.
Annoyed, Jack swatted the cat off the chair
and said, Get out of here, cat!
I just gave you some food!
The cat growled at him and whispered, Jack
suddenly stopped chewing.
Surely that cat didn't just say something, he
thought.
He then shook his head and resumed his
dinner.
Once again, the cat leapt up onto the
chair and tried to stick its paw into
the gravy.
Jack swatted him away and the cat whispered
again, Now Jack knew he wasn't hearing things.
But talking cat or no talking cat, he
wasn't about to let anything ruin his hard
-earned meal.
So he took out his silver knife, pointed
it at the cat and said, Now you
listen here.
I ain't had a good meal in days.
You try sticking your paw in my dinner
again, I'm gonna whack it off!
You hear me?
The cat stared at him, seemingly amused.
Jack shook his head and turned back towards
his dinner.
Sure enough, the cat jumped back onto the
chair and tried to stick its paw in
the gravy.
Enraged, Jack whipped out his knife and whacked
off the cat's paw, sending the cat screaming
into the night.
Jack looked down at his plate and saw
the cat's bloody paw floating in his gravy.
Disgusted, he set the plate aside and went
to bed.
The next morning, as Jack got ready for
work, he grabbed his plate to wash it
in the stream.
As he looked into the gravy, he saw
a horrible sight.
The cat's paw had transformed into a human
hand, an elderly woman's hand to be exact,
and on one of its fingers was a
wedding ring.
Jack figured he should tell Mr. Davis about
what he found.
So he wrapped the hand in a towel
and brought it up to the main house.
When Mr. Davis answered the door, Jack told
him about the cat, then showed him the
hand.
Mr. Davis' eyes widened in terror as he
said in disbelief, That's my wife's wedding ring!
As Jack ran this gruesome information through his
head, he remembered those spooky old stories his
father used to tell him about witches and
haints.
He figured they were just silly tales that
old folks used to keep kids in line.
But now he was starting to wonder if
they were real.
Where's your wife now?
Jack asked Mr. Davis.
She's upstairs in bed, he answered.
She's been feeling poorly since last night.
Let's go up and see her, said Jack.
I think I may know what's wrong.
The two men climbed the stairs toward Mrs.
Davis' bedroom.
As they entered the dark and musty room,
Jack could see the old woman cowering in
bed, her wrinkled skin pale and sickly looking.
This is Jack, our new farmhand, said Mr.
Davis to his wife.
He says he thinks he knows what's wrong
with you.
Show me your hand, said Jack to Mrs.
Davis.
Mrs. Davis hesitated, fear filling her eyes.
She then stretched her left hand from beneath
the covers and showed it to Jack.
How about the other one, asked Jack.
Mrs. Davis refused his request, sinking deeper and
deeper under the covers, as if trying to
get away.
Jack waited a moment, then suddenly flung the
covers off the bed.
Sure enough, they could see that her right
hand was completely cut off.
There's the problem, yelled Jack to Mr. Davis.
Your wife's a witch.
She changed into a cat last night and
tried to poison me by sticking her paw
in my dinner.
And I bet that's what's happened to all
your other farmhands.
Jack then pulled his trusty knife out of
his pocket.
The only reason I'm alive is because my
knife is made of silver.
Witches can't stand silver.
With that, Mrs. Davis let out a horrifying,
high-pitched scream that could only have come
from one place, the depths of Satan's lair.
She then floated slowly off of her bed,
her screams growing louder and louder.
Jack grabbed a stun to Mr. Davis and
rushed him out of the house.
Even outside, Mrs. Davis' screams were everywhere.
Birds flew out of the trees.
The horses and livestock ran as far away
as they could.
What are we going to do now, asked
Mr. Davis.
There's only one thing we can do, answered
Jack.
You got any gasoline?
Mr. Davis brought Jack to the work shed
and pulled out several cans of gas.
Slowly and methodically, they soaked every last building
and tree.
As Jack pulled out a book of matches,
he was surprised to see Mr. Davis turn
around and walk back toward the house.
Where are you going, yelled Jack after him.
We got to burn this place down before
she kills anybody else.
Just do what you got to do, answered
Mr. Davis.
Don't pay me no mind.
But you'll die in there, yelled Jack frantically.
Mr. Davis stopped, turned around, and with a
shrug of his shoulders, grinned at Jack.
Well, I promised the good Lord till death
do us part, so I guess I'm stuck
with her.
And with that, Mr. Davis went back into
the house and shut the door.
Jack stood there for a moment, unsure what
to do.
He then went around the farm, opened each
gate to let the animals loose.
Then with shaken hands, he struck a match
and dropped it into the gas.
A wall of fire quickly raced around the
farm, consuming every building and tree.
And it was said that for miles around,
you could not only see the black smoke
rising from the Davis farm, but you could
also hear the horrifying shrieks of Mrs. Davis
as she succumbed to the flames.
Jack quickly left Abel, Mississippi on the next
train.
And for the next few years, he continued
wandering from town to town until he finally
found a woman who settled him down.
But ever since his run-in with the
Davises, he gave his old family ghost tales
and superstitions a little more credence.
Especially the one about a black cat crossing
your path.
That concludes this tale from the Moonlit Road.
Be sure to visit our website at themoonlitroad
.com to find out more about our stories
and let us know how we're doing.
The Moonlit Road is produced and directed by
Craig Dominey, recorded and soundscaped by Henry Howard
in beautiful Stone Mountain, Georgia.
Thanks for listening, and we'll see you next
time.