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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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Coal Mountain Series
Book One
Edward Rollins
Genre: Contemporary Fantasy
Date of Publication: October 1, 2019
ASIN: 1689808853
Number of pages: 392
Word Count: 97.376
Cover Artist: Katherine Rollins
Tagline: If you like witches, werewolves, and murder, this is the book for you.
About the Book:
When the ghost of Jake Calhoun's grandmother delivers a cryptic message to him, he's drawn back to the mountains of southern West Virginia, where he finds himself on a collision course with the consequences of his past, the strained family ties that drove him to run, and the woman he left behind.
Though he longs to return to the life he's made for himself in the city, a string of deaths forces him to decide who he will be, where he belongs, and how he will stop whoever is killing those closest to him.
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Read an 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.
As a kid in elementary school, Edward Rollins hated to read. Hated it…
Then his grandfather, who knew Edward loved the Adam West "Batman" series, introduced him to Batman comic books, the rest is nerd history. From those early comics he went on to consume a steady diet of books from fantasy to science fiction. Eventually, he found a little game called Dungeons and Dragons and a lifetime of telling stories was born.
He’s been a sailor, a soldier, a pastor, an engineer and a college professor; sometimes all at once. Mostly, he hopes to know what he wants to be when he grows up. Assuming he agrees to grow up…
A writer since college, he has published a handful of short stories and gaming industry pieces over the years. "The Witch's Debt" is his first attempt at writing “something of his own”.
Edward has lectured in convention and collegiate circles on the topics of gaming simulations, fantasy world building and theology in fantasy settings. He is a fan of 1920s pulp and science fiction as well as the 1950s aesthetics of Raygun Gothic and Atom-Punk.
While he lives in central Ohio with his wife and two incredible young adults – all three of which make him proud -- his heart will always be in West Virginia.
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