Granny Surrey had always warned us never to go near Tolliver Hollow.

"Bad things stir there", she would half whisper.

We never questioned what those things were exactly. Some things are best left alone. You see, Granny had "the sight", as they called it, and you'd best believe her when she told you something -- or find yourself regretting it later.

We'd seen her dowse for water, and find it, even in the deepest drought. Folks would bring their children, suffering from thrash mouth, that even the doctor in Yarrowville couldn't cure, and Granny Surrey would make 'em well. She'd take the child in her arms, and go with it alone out back, to the barn. A little while later, she and the child would return, and she'd hand him over to his waiting parents. Before the sun would set, that child, who'd been too sick to even eat a bit of cool broth, would be runnin' round playing and enjoying a bite of corn bread that it's mama had made.

Folks here in Crab Orchard were in awe of her, and truth be told, probably just a little bit afraid. So when she whispered her warning against Tolliver Hollow, our young ears perked up, and took note.

The hollow was religiously avoided. Such unknown fear, though, was the subject of much talk and deliberation among the local youth. What bad things stirred there? Some thought that it was a camp for a band of mysterious travelers who had sold their souls to the dark side . There were whispers of the strange, evil rituals they would perform there. Others thought it haunted by spirits of a family said to have died there in a house fire. The father, driven by some unknown force, had went mad, and set fire to the house and barn, perishing along with his wife and three children in the blaze. My cousin, Abel, supposed the very devil himself was lurking there, just waiting for the unsuspecting soul to wander in. I voiced no opinion. All I knew was that it was a bad place, and I wasn't about to go there.

*******

In the summer of my fifteenth year, a young fellow by the name of Marcus bought the piece of land bordering our farm. He was broad shouldered and strong, with an attitude and brazen ego that was even stronger. He was a show off, that's for sure. There was not, to hear him tell it, anything he hadn't done, nor was there man, beast, spirit or demon on God's green earth that could make him afraid. Why, he boasted, he could meet old Lucifer himself and stare him down, and when the old devil blinked, he'd spit in his eye.

Such boastful bragging did not sit well with most of the men in Crab Orchard. They were all good men, hard working souls, with a righteous fear of the Almighty, and a strong respect for the unknown. They took such bragging as a personal insult against their manhood, and resented the implications that they were cowards, or lesser men. It became the consensus of most, after a time, that Marcus needed to be taken down a notch or two. Problem, was, however, how to see it done. They needn't have worried about it, however. Some things have a way of taking care of themselves. As Granny Surrey always told us, the Good Book promises that pride goes before a fall, and a boastful spirit leads to destruction, and Marcus, poor soul, with his bragging ways, was setting his own self up for a mighty big fall.

That October, at harvest time, the men all pitched in to gather in the crops, each helping the other until the job was done. Marcus was among them.

As they worked, the men began to talk, swapping tales and gossip. After a time, talk turned to Tolliver Hollow, and a heated debate of just what was there ensued. True to fashion, Marcus, upon being warned not to venture there, laughed to scorn the men's warnings. He wasn't afraid to journey there and check it out, even if they all were. He'd go that evening, right after work. Despite the protests of all his companions, Marcus would not be swayed; after all, he had built his image as a fearless man, and this was just the opportunity to prove it.

Well, truth be told, Marcus did prove something that night, though not what he had planned. His intent was to prove that he was the most fearless, the strongest and toughest man in Crab Orchard. What he proved, however, that it doesn't pay to take the devil lightly, or to issue Old Scratch a challenge, not unless you mean for him to take you up on it.

What exactly transpired that night in Tolliver Hollow remains a mystery here in the Orchard. There was much speculation among the people, but no one knows just what went on. And Marcus himself, ain't able to say.

The next morning, some of the men, worried when Marcus didn't show up in the fields, decided it best to check out the situation. They rode over to Marcus's place, and what they found has caused the topic of Tolliver Hollow to become a thing only mentioned in fearful, quiet whispers.

When the men arrived, they found Marcus's horse, still in its saddle and bridle, covered in sweat and froth, outside the barn. He had been rode hard, and fast, and was about half dead from such treatment.

Alarmed, the men began to look for Marcus, shouting his name as the approached the cabin. Getting no response, they entered the cabin, only to find no sign of Marcus anywhere. Their search then led them out back, past the woodshed, and down toward the spring house. They had just about given up on finding Marcus, when they heard a sound, faint and weak, from inside the dark and cool stone building.

Marcus lay there, only half conscious, and babbling incoherently under his breath. He was one sad, sorry mess, with his clothes torn and dirty, his skin bruised, scratched and bloody. He looked as though he had been on the short end of a fight with a panther, or bear. As they turned him onto his back, however, an even more horrible sight awaited. Two long, deep scratches crossed his chest, seeping blood, directly over his heart. And that wasn't the worst of it. It looked as if his face had taken the worst of it. Across the left side of his face, and eye, was an ugly wound. It looked as though somebody had dashed his face full of something that burned the flesh almost away. The men were horrified at the sight, and sent for the doctor in Yarrowville right away. They got him up, and to the cabin, and put him to bed, tending to the smaller wounds as best they could till the doctor could reach them.

Marcus lay there for days, out of his head, muttering and crying out. There were times that it took two men to hold him in the bed as he fought whatever it was that chased him in his mind.

Through these seemingly mindless wanderings, those tending to him began to piece together the events of that fateful night. It was enough to send chills up a dead man's spine, so frightful they seemed.

It appeared that Marcus had made Tolliver Hollow after nightfall, and planned to make camp beside the little brook that ran through the heart of it. Sometime later, Marcus became aware of movement in the brush around him, but had dismissed it as some animal making its way in the night. Then he became aware of being watched, and soon spotted a pair of glowing red eyes just outside the campfire glow. Gathering his gun, he made to shoot into the darkness, but was unable to draw a bead when something jumped into the heart of the firelight. At this point in his mutterings, Marcus would become so agitated, and his speech so garbled, that the listener could not make out the description. Whatever it was, though, was big, and evil, and terrifying, and definitely not an animal. He had dropped his gun, dashed to his horse and fled, not stopping until he had reached home. As he entered the gate, his horse had reared in panic and fear. As he fought to gain control of the beast, with a mighty force, something landed just behind him on the horse. He had felt a searing heat, and the clutch of powerful hands on his shoulders. One claw like nail had reached over his shoulder to mark his chest, just above his heart. He, and whatever was with him, were thrown from the terrified horse to the ground.

That was about all that could be gleaned from Marcus in his condition. For three weeks, he lay abed there, with the neighbor folks taking turns tending to his needs, and praying that he come around. Finally, fever took hold, and Marcus was silent, even his frantic mutterings hushed. About midnight, that last night, as his fever mounted, his breathing became labored, and it was pretty clear Marcus was about to depart this world. But with his final breath, he offered one final clue as to what he had witnessed there in the dark regions of Tolliver Hollow that night. Suddenly jerking upright, his eyes wide and staring, he cried, "I looked him in the face, but those eyes, those eyes!" With that, he slumped back to the bed, and released his final breath.

Marcus was buried on Chestnut Ridge, in the community plot. Knowing that he had no family, folks in Crab Orchard all pitched in to by him a stone to place at the head of his grave.

In a way, Marcus got what he had always strived for. His name is still spoken here to this very day. He got his moment of glory, and his right to fame. Only thing is, I'm not real sure it was how he would have liked it to be. His name has become a warning here in Crab Orchard. Many a man will warn his child with, " Watch your step, child. Don't make boasts you can't carry through. Remember Marcus--he looked the devil in the eye, and it lead him to his grave."

I reckon that it don't pay to challenge Old Nick-the price for losing the challenge, it seems to me, comes much to high. So we watch our words, and we mind my Granny Surrey's warning--we don't go to Tolliver Hollow, for bad things really do stir there.