As the dog days of
summer gradually give way to the crisp chill of
autumn, September 12 might seem to be just
another typical day. For me, the date tickles at
the back of my mind, like a teasing memory. Then
I recall an eerie significance attached to this
date, when an event almost too bizarre to be
real rocked the small town of Flatwoods in
central West Virginia.
September 12, 2002, marks the 50th anniversary
of the reported sighting of an alien creature in
the hills of Braxton County. Some dismissed it
as a hoax, but those who were actually there at
the time have a different perspective. The event
has had a profound impact. As a result of it,
Flatwoods would earn the nickname "Home of the
Green Monster." The frightening tale would be
told time and again by those who witnessed the
event, and friends and neighbors would speak of
it in whispers. The story would live on, passed
down through the generations and becoming part
of the oral folklore that is so unique to our
mountain culture and heritage.
I was five years old when I first learned about
the Flatwoods Monster, also known as the Braxton
County Monster, the Phantom of Flatwoods, or
simply the Green Monster. It was an experience
that was burned forever into my mind.
During the early 1950's, my family and I lived
in Summersville, and I loved to go on fishing
trips with my dad and other relatives. On one of
these fishing expeditions late one summer, we
spent most of the morning fishing up and down
the Elk River, just above Sutton, in Braxton
County. Tired and hungry, we retreated to a
local restaurant for lunch. This restaurant was
located at the "Y" intersection of routes 4 and
19, about half-a-mile south of downtown Sutton.
We were seated in a booth near the window, and
had just finished ordering our food. We were
making small talk with the waitress when she
looked at me and commented, "You'd better look
out, or that monster will get you."
Why would someone offer that kind of "helpful"
advice to a five-year-old kid? Her words,
nonetheless, had the desired effect, and I felt
the blood drain from my face in terror. I looked
to my father for reassurance, or a
conspiratorial wink, or a smile indicating that
the waitress was kidding. But there were none!
An uncomfortable silence fell over the afternoon
dining crowd, and the room took on the stale air
of a funeral parlor. In quiet, hushed tones,
conversations slowly resumed. My young ears
picked up bits and pieces of dialogue laced with
words such as "fireball," "spaceship," "red
eyes," and "10-feet tall." My heart thumped
painfully against my thin chest when I heard the
phrase, "Eat you alive!"
Apparently, the fear in my heart was
communicated clearly on my face. A burly
gentleman leaned around our booth and commented,
"Don't worry about the monster getting you, kid.
You'll smell it before it gets near enough to
grab you." The diners around us erupted into
gales of hearty laughter that reverberated
around the room for a good two minutes. I looked
questioningly at my father, still hoping for
some form of reassurance, and he began to
explain.
Recently, some people in the nearby community of
Flatwoods had an unusual experience, he said. A
fireball, it seems, had fallen from the sky. A
few residents witnessed this phenomenon and had
gone to investigate. When they got there, they
discovered a hideous monstrosity with fiery red
eyes. Some of the search team reportedly were
overwhelmed by a highly noxious odor and ran for
their lives. My father finished by saying that
he wouldn't let the monster get me.
I felt a little better, but my once-strong
interest in bass fishing was now completely
overshadowed by a nagging fear of monsters. My
thoughts strayed, and I felt a desperate urge to
retreat across the mountain to the safety and
comfort of home.
That episode in the restaurant left an
impression on me so intense, that still today I
am repulsed and fascinated by the Green Monster.
You can read the rest of this article in the
Fall 2002 issue of Goldenseal, available in
bookstores, libraries or direct from Goldenseal.
(Goldenseal, the
magazine of West Virginia traditional life, is
produced by the Division of Culture and History
and takes its stories from the recollections of
West Virginians living throughout the state.
Oral history fieldwork and documentary
photography result in four issues per year with
articles on subjects such as labor history,
folklore, music, farming, religion, traditional
crafts, food, and politics.)
