I found myself standing in the middle of a field or maybe it was a meadow. I could hear the babbling of a nearby brook. The soothing sound of water running over stones put me at ease. The buzzing of big fat bumble bees from one flower to another added its own charm. The sky was a deep blue color. A very peaceful blue. The whole area was surrounded by trees, huge fir and pine trees that reached high into the sky. Past the line of trees, I could clearly see snow capped mountains and beyond that I felt there must have been tiny little settlements.

My eyes followed Jamie as she vanished into the crowd. And speaking of the crowd, the crowd just lingered around the dunking booth. If a person did not want to buy three balls for five dollars, they could just walk up and push the button for ten dollars. Like Jamie she had dropped ten dollars to drop me in freezing cold water, the little brat also managed to sneak in another push of the button when nobody was looking.

Two miles East of town one would find an open field. A broken stone wall divides the field in half, in front of the stone wall, there is a creek. The field is haunted, haunted by the souls of some six hundred Confederate dead and some eight hundred Federal dead. There are a number of rumors connected with the field, some report hearing the roar of musketry echoing across the field early in the morning.

In a clearing eight miles north of Benton there stands an old wooden railway depot. It's a simple white wooden building with a rusty tin roof. It stands next to another wooden building that was once the town's post office and beside that another building that was once the town's trading post. Beside the depot there's an old steam locomotive resting in an old section of line. A quiet section of road runs pass these three buildings before crossing the mainline of the “Yazoo & Mississippi Valley Railroad” that runs straight to Benton.

When my niece Madeline came to me, and asked me to share with her any paranormal or supernatural encounter I might have. I will freely admit at first I was hesitant, but then I decided to go ahead and share one my most frightening encounters. First allow me to introduce myself to you, the general reader. My name is Percival Alexandra Bell, or Percy for short. I'm an Episcopal Priest and current rector of St. Mary's Episcopal Church here in Benton. I was the second son of John William Bell and Joanna Maria Bell.

This next story is a bit personal for me. It's one I'm still having trouble coming to terms with. One one hand, it could have been a trick of the mind. I was on some pretty powerful painkillers at the time. My life too it seemed had fallen apart, like a piece of priceless china that had been dropped on the floor. The tiny porcelain shards scattered to the four winds. I guess I should start at the beginning of the story.

I was something of a tomboy growing up. And I often spent my summers here in Benton, helping my grandfather the late Albert John Brewer around the family farm when I could escape the attention of my grandmother Sabbath Mari Brewer who was a Croft before she married my grandfather in a simple “Low Church” service down at St. Mary's Episcopal Church, the towns only Episcopal Church and the cradle of bourgeoisie of the Benton.

The gymnasium was filled to the brim with costumed revelers. Kendalgroves Jr. High School annual Halloween celebration was in full swing with all the students dancing their cares away as the DJ was playing the latest pop hits. The room gym had been decorated in full Halloween style, with spooky glow in the dark skeletons hanging from invisible strings and plastic bats too. And in the center there could be a strange attraction.

Hospital about a day or so ago. The girl had developed a nasty case of pneumonia that had gone under the guise of a really nasty common cold for several days, slowly withering away her heat till at last her mother had enough. The woman taking the bull by the horns, barged into Jane's room, and quickly bundled her up in a cocoon of colorful, woolen blankets. She then tossed her into the back of one of the many SUV's that belonged to the house. Once Jane was safely locked away, she then climbed into the drivers side of the SUV and made a light night, bat straight out of hell and ran to St.

Potter's Mercantile is a family owned and operated general store located in the heart of downtown Benton. According to local legend and lore the shop has stood at the corner of main and sixth street since the founding of the town way back when. The store has a little bit of everything and the owner Mr. Potter often extends credit to those who need it. Mom also likes it, because the owner's wife has a small selection of gently worn dresses, blouses, skirts and shoes she sales on the side. Most of my clothing came from Potter's.

Being Cerridwen had changed my life, for the better I believe. My mom is now more involved with my life than she was before. She also started teaching me a lot of domestic skills, like how to make up a bed, how to deep clean a house, how to sew and how to handle a broom. She also started teaching me more of the craft, see my mom's a witch, and since the craft is normally passed from mother to daughter, she always figured the craft would die with her. That's not to say she was overjoyed to find me wearing that old skirt and blouse one afternoon. No, quite the opposite.

Tales of the monsters Rougarou have been passed down from one generation to the other. The Rougarou, is something of a werewolf type creature that is said to stalk the underbrush of Big Cypress Swamp, searching for its favorite prey, a careless hunter, trapper or fisherman. It's also said to prey on household pets when the picking is lean. It's said to favor cats more than dogs. Its also said to make the many hidden hollows and vales that dot the thickly covered area the locals call “Haunted Hollow” its home.

I took a deep, deep breath as I climbed up the soaking wet ladder. Holding in that breath, I started to slowly climb from the ladder over to the dunking board that was already soaking wet. My heart started to flutter as I inched my way toward the very end of the board. Looking down, I noticed there was a good two feet from where my feet were tangling down and the freezing water below. Releasing my breath I eased my hands down to my side and focused my eyes toward the crowd that was starting to huddle around the throwing line.

I don't really live in Benton proper. But in one of the area's that was annexed around thirty years ago into the township. The local's call the area 'Haunted Hollow' for reasons that have never been explained to me. Many of the houses in this area are simple log cabin Unlike the wealthy people who live in town in creole-style cottages or the middle class people who live in simpler cottages that line the 'Town Creek' section of town. People here are mostly lower middle-class farmers. The descendants of the poor sharecroppers that came to this area following the Civil War.

The township of Benton has three main water towers, one of which has been closed down and is no longer in operation. That one happens to also be the tallest of the tree, the structure looms over the skyline of the town like a sleeping giant made out of copper, iron and steel. The rails lining the catwalk that surrounds the dome have turned to orange rust and are crumbling and decaying. The once bright navy blue letters that once spelled out the word “Benton” have become chipped and turned to an off color of blue.

The 'Fishing Rodeo' was an annual tournament that was sponsored by the 'The Benton Bass Federation' a local association of professional and amateur fisherman and women. The tournament often meant big business for the downtown merchants too, as tourists from the surrounding cities and towns would flood in, some even entering their names into the event in hopes of claiming the bragging rights that came with catching the biggest fish. And of course, some hoped to pocket their share of the prize money being offered.

For several generations, a rumor has persisted among the residents of Benton, Mississippi that the swampy bottomlands south of town are home to a monster that is said to stand nine feet tall, have fiery red eyes and possess immeasurable strength and endurance. The monster is said to walk upright on its two feet and is said to swing its massive arms as it stomps through the countless streams, brooks and creeks that crisscross the thick woodland, the best is said to be covered from head to toe in thick, tar black fur that's often matted and muddy.

The news of me volunteering for the dunking booth had traveled around school like a Californian Wildfire, the hallways too were buzzing too with rumors of the two open spots at the bottom of the list would go to. One rumor said Mrs. Kimberly the girls P.E teacher had volunteered, another rumor said that one of the girls from the Junior High had volunteered. I tried to float above the rumors. The night before the fete, I took a good hot bath and made sure to shave under my arms and my legs too. I wanted to smooth as velvet for my time in the booth.

It was well into the afternoon when I finally reached creole-style cottage that I called home. I quickly climbed the wooden steps that lead onto the wrap around front porch and then taking a deep breath entered into the living room. The air inside was scented with the smell of roasting meat and vegetables. I guessed tonight corned beef, and cabbage was on the menu, judging from the heavy, savory, beefy smell that perfumed the air.

“Jamie.” My mother called from the kitchen. “Is that you dear?”

Ten minutes later, Jamie reached the main office. The lobby was filled with the tapping of fingers on keyboards as the two office secretaries, the sinews of the school attacked there daily mounds of paperwork and filled out forms and filed forms. Jamie stood behind the desk for a solid minute before one of the ladies looked up from her work and motioned for her to step behind the desk.

“This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.” John 15: 12 & 13 - The Bible

The sun was hanging high over the township of Benton. The hours of the day were getting longer and longer with each passing day. All across Benton, both teachers and students were counting down the days till the sweet release of Summer. With bated breath, they waited for that final bell that would grant them freedom from the desk, freedom from homework and pop quiz’s and exams. Many dreamed of long, lazy summer afternoons spent playing in the grassy fields, or sitting by a cool shady spot down by the river.

The Plymouth Renaissance Festival was one of the large Renaissance Fairs in Erehwon. Located in the district of Ashen the fair covered a area of roughly four hundred acres. The fair by local tradition and its founding charter always opened the weekend of Victoria Day and always closed by Labor Day.