Melville Hallow By Eroyan

Melville Hallow Part 1.

by:Eroyan Barmy

Melville Hallow has been called many names. Once it was known as Uyoi-Ama by the Cherokee, which means bad water. It was also know as Little White Steed by Irish settlers and Justine when a more established settlement was erected. Eventually it became known as Melville Hallow around the year of our Lord, eighteen fourteen.

William Melville, a wealthy business man from Boston, traveled south for his health. When he arrived at Justine, at this time, he fell in love with the area. For a time he dwelt in a well to do brick building inside the town until he decided to go into the plantation business. It did not take him long to purchase a large track of land along Burns Creek just outside of Justine. It was there he built a large home and purchased slaves to work the land for him.

Most never even pondered on William Melville and his plantation, he was producing crops and making money as they all were. Even if he held the most land for miles around it was taken that Mr. Melville was an upstanding gentleman. He attended Church and save to the needs of Justine and others when it was needed. For the most part, life went on as it had always in Justine. They simply now had a well to do neighbor.

It was around the year of our Lord, seventeen nighty-three, that the first cow was discovered butchered or half eaten. Most just blamed the wolves that roamed the dark forests from time to time, but by the time the number got up to eight in the same month, it was decided something needed to be done. So for several days parties went out to kill as many wolves as they could. It produced fine pelts which gave many a town folk a boost in their wealth.

None was more happily involved in the wolf hunt that William Melville. He and his team of slaves her took with them, were responsible for one hundred and twenty-four wolf pelts alone. That was almost half the entire town eliminated over the summer and winter. It seemed to work for all through the rest of the spring, summer and well into fall; there were no more incidents with butchered or half eaten cattle.

The town relaxed again into a peaceful state of everyday life. The comings and goings were the natural topic of the tavern and after Church gossip. It was October seventeenth, eighteen fifteen when the last of the wolf hunting parties went out into the cold dark morning to check the traps one last time before they would be taken up. What would happen that morning would change Justine forever.

The hunting party traveled from one wolf trap to the other all across the low lands of Justine. As had been the normal routine and practice over the last few months, they found no sign of any wolves during the trips between traps. Nor did they find any wolves in the traps. It appeared the town had finally solved its problem.

The next part of this tale is told in the words of the only survivor of that hunting party. Benjamin Tate was twenty when he traveled with the fateful members of that party and was to be married not more than a week after this last hunt.

“We had just finished checking the trap near Burns Creek. Mr. Robinson had just mentioned that we only had two more traps to check, as we shouldered our firearms. We had only gotten a hundred yards from the trap when the mist from the rising sun began. Suddenly we heard the trap go off. We all looked at each other a moment and wonders had we caught one? It was rare to catch a wolf during the day. So we turned and headed back to the trap expecting to see a rabbit or some other creature in the trap, one that had just wandered in and set it off.

We were almost insight of the trap when we heard the snarling and the trap rattling violently. Amazed that a wolf was out this early in the day and we had caught it surprised us. We were not expecting any trouble as we readied our rifles and came up over the slight right to see the Burn Creek trap. I stood stock still for I had never seen such a wolf before. It was massive and black and thrashed against the cage to escape. Snarling and biting the bars of the cage we could hear the iron squeal in protest of what had to be very powerful jaws. Mr. Robinson raised his rifle, and in that instant the wolf stopped and looked right at him. It shook him a bit and he paused as he aimed.

The wolf drew close to the bars and they bright yellow eyes gazed at all of us in turn. Finally Mr. Robinson fired along with two of the others and I swear they hit the wolf. I swear they hit it. Suddenly after being struck the wolf didn’t cry out in pain it just flinched as it was hit and then grabbed the bars of the cage. I mean it was on all fours then it was like it had hands and gripped the bar of the cage and wrenched it open quickly. The bars just popped right out and the wolf charged.

This caused other members of the party to fire but they were so shaken their shots went wide. Mr. Robinson was reloading when it reached him and rose up on its hind legs. The beast as I shall call it now, for it was no wolf. Towered over Mr. Robinson and slapped the rifle from his hands as Mr. Robinson tried to crack it over the beast’s skull. I was terrified and amazed at its power as it lifted him and with a firm motion brought its jaws and sharp teeth onto Mr. Robinson’s neck. The blood shot red into the morning sunlight and there was the most awful gurgling sound from Mr. Robinson.

The will of our party broke and we all ran for our lives. We got separated each of us running as best as we could back toward Justine. I ran so hard everything burned but I dared not give up my escape. I heard the screams of the others. They echoed through the woods and could hear the howl of the beast as it brought down the others one at a time. I don’t know why it saved me to last, maybe I could run faster than the others. I don’t know, but I knew I was very close to Justine before I heard the sounds of something large chasing me. I only glanced once behind me and saw those very human yellow eyes locked on me as it ran towards me. Sometimes on all fours other on two, I screamed for my life and threw down my rifle and ran as hard as I could. I knew I couldn’t out run it.

I was so close to Justine I could smell the bakers oven drifting along the breeze, I wanted to keep running but I had to slow down the beast or I would never stand a chance. I pulled my pistol and turned suddenly to fire on the wolf hoping to hit its leg and give me enough time to fully escape. When I turned the beast wasn’t there but the forest was deathly quiet. It was then the beast leapt from my right and hit me hard. I could smell the death on its breath as it grabbed my neck and hauled me up choking me as it peered at me and howled again. I trembled with fear and thought I had seen it been shot and never stop I couldn’t just let it kill me as it had the others. I jabbed my piston into its ribs and it looked down and then back up. It was grinning at me! I swear it was. I let out a choking yelp and pulled the trigger.

I don’t know what was different about my pistol or why God took mercy on me and not the other members of the party. But the beast howled in pain for the first time and dropped me. I landed in a heap as the beast grabbed at its chest and I watched blood flow from between its fingers or claws. It snarled at me and then ran off into the forest. I returned to Justine and what we found of the others can only be described as pieces. I keep that pistol will me at all times now, loaded just how I had it on that fateful day. I still bear the mark of the beast on my neck and do not think it will ever fade. Do not ask me on a hunting party I’ve had my fill.”

Benjamin Tate’s pistol that day had been loaded with a ball round that was taught to him by his grandfather. Instead of a total lead in the ball it had been fashioned with a mixture of lead and silver. You may make of this information what you will. But another odd fact many over looked since that fateful day is that William Melville mysteriously came down with an illness that left him bedridden and not accepting any visitors for almost a month after that day.