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The Haunted World of West Virginia’s Grannies
West Virginia, the place generations of
my people have called home. Wild, wonderful, and possessed of an undeniable
beauty. But sometimes... the place just ain't right.
Maybe it's the narrow roads snaking
through claustrophobic forests. Maybe it's the looming presence of the
mountains, equal parts shelter, and constraint. Or maybe it’s the tight-lipped
locals, wary of strangers and burdened by the weight of tales passed down since
before their kin left the Old Country. Whispered stories that tell of all
manner of...other. Either way, it's hard to shake the feeling that my beloved
mountains are hiding secrets best left alone. That's the world that birthed the
Granny, or white witch; wise women, workers of poultices, charms, and yes -
when called for - curses. And it is the Granny that inspired my Coal Mountain
series. Only seems right to share a bit about them with you.
The origins of the Granny lie in the
isolation and desperation of mountain life, in a time and place far removed
from modern medicine when the nearest doctor could be a day or more away. When
folks there got sick, they turned to the Grannies, whose reputations were
rooted in their understanding of herbalism and the preparation of natural
remedies; the ability to “stir a boil” and make a sick child well. It was a
short hop from a tea to cure a fever to a poultice to catch the eye of the one
you loved. And when the shadows grew long and the veil between worlds thinned -
as it’s said happens each Halloween - it's no surprise that folks turned to the
Grannies again, this time to keep that darkness at bay.
To their communities, the Grannies were keepers of ancient knowledge passed down through generations; both revered and feared for the knowledge they possessed. Their practices were a New World blend of Celtic, Native American, Germanic, and African traditions, all interwoven with a dose of Christian beliefs and survive still among the region's followers of Celtic Christianity.
Grannies - including my own - professed the ability to craft powerful charms and perform rituals that could protect against the things unseen that haunted the West Virginia wilderness. They were known to craft hex signs – a practice drawn from Germanic and Pennsylvania Dutch traditions – and utilized these colorful symbols to guard a place from evils known and unknown. While many of these wards were small works of art, some were simplicity incarnate. Among the latter was the simple use of "haint blue," a soft, bluish-green color often seen on doorways, windowsills, and even porch ceilings. Tradition maintained that "haints" - or restless spirits – were unable to cross water. The color - mimicking water as it does – was thought to create a protective barrier at doors and windows.
And then there were the curses—dark incantations spoken in secret, sometimes to seek justice, other times to exact revenge. While not every Granny dabbled in curses, there is no shortage of tales telling if a wronged woman who sought out a Granny to set things right. As a teenager, I heard firsthand the tales of dead livestock, blighted crops, or families plagued by mysterious illnesses after someone crossed a Granny. It was plume foolish to doubt ht. It was the certainty of the belief in the power of a Granny’s curse that led them to be treated with a blend of respect and caution. Their power both admired and approached with trepidation.
The folks of southern West Virginia being of primarily Scots and Irish decent, it shouldn’t be a surprise that Halloween, or Samhain as it was once known, was a time of great significance for the Grannies of the region. Folks had no doubt that on that night the boundary between the living and the dead was at its weakest; spirits walked freely among the living. So, the living turned to the Grannies as gatekeepers, looking to them to perform ancient rituals – often Christian and pagan in equal measure – to honor the dead, protect the living, and keep the darkest of forces at bay. Bonfires – with deep roots in Celtic tradition - played a role in these ceremonies. The Grannies would gather their communities around these fires, where they burnt sage, rosemary, and other herbs believed to cleanse the area of evil spirits.
The legacy of the Grannies remains tightly woven into the fabric of mountain folklore, contributing to an all too familiar sense of unease that hangs about the darkest corners, especially at Halloween. While many in the Mountain State have forgotten the truth of their own stories, you can count on Halloween to breathe new life in old tales, filled with strange occurrences, eerie encounters, and supernatural events that defy explanation. And you can find signs of the past without looking to hard. Children carve pumpkins having no knowledge that they are practicing an ancient ritual meant to ward off evil. Candles burn in darkened windows absent even the most distant remembrance of nights when they were lit to guide the ancestors home on Halloween night.
As Halloween approaches and the nights
grow longer, folks in my neck of the woods aren’t strained by the idea that the
world of the Grannies remains. The world of the Grannies – that blend of
ancient wisdom and supernatural wonder – hasn't faded with time. No, it’ll
never be truly lost. It floats through the hollers like a whisper on the wind.
It’s etched into the stone of the mountains themselves. So, when the wind
carries a distant howl to your ears, or the moon casts grasping shadows across
the ground, and you sense something off in the world... remember that the
ancient magic of the Grannies remains, just out of sight, but still in reach.
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Excerpt
"You all right, Buck?" He set his coffee on the small table there as he took more of my weight than I intended.
"Yeah," I lied. "Bit of a headache." I couldn't look him in the eye. "I need to check on something. Be right in."
"Sure you're gonna be all right?" Dad picked up his coffee as I took my weight again.
“I’ll live.” I nodded and started toward the sitting room. I steeled myself against the pain I knew was coming and pushed my senses into the Curtain once again.
The little room off the chapel was packed with overstuffed couches and an ottoman which could double for a bed. I could see just clearly enough to avoid tripping, but it made finding the cat a challenge. I moved from piece to piece, looking behind and under each. There was no sign of it. It could have left through the chapel but I wasn't ready to accept that it had. It was bothersome enough it was inside the church. I didn't want to consider what it would mean if the thing could move across the consecrated ground of the chapel.
"Lose something?" Bonnie asked from the doorway.
Frustrated and defeated, I gave her a weak smile and let go of my view into the Curtain.
"Hello, Bonnie."
She stepped into the room, her coat and purse left behind somewhere. She wore a pained smile on her lips. "That the best you have for me?"
There were people in this town I didn't care to spare a kind word, Bonnie wasn't one of them. She'd done nothing but love me.
I stopped fighting the smile she had always put on my face and replied, "Well if it isn't Bonnie Blankenship, the prettiest girl at Pineville High. How are things, Ms. Blankenship?"
"Much better,” her smile touched her eyes and she stepped in close.
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