SECRETS OF A SMALL TOWN

Deep in Southwest Virginia there is a place where geese honk and the cow’s moo. A place deep in the mountains where saltwater and fresh water collide. Underground caverns filled with salt, minerals and rivers and secrets. Secrets everywhere, neighbors whispers, secrets within the town secrets between people and secrets from people. A place where worlds collide dimensions overlap and gateways and wormholes exist. A place where ufos frequent the sky and places beneath the ground. A place full of secrets, lies, and the unknown.  A place where military planes frequent, large supply planes fly low prepping to land, but where, what strip, where is the strip? There is no documented military base nearby.

There are acres upon acres fenced off posted with warnings closed off to the public, monitored.  Land supposedly unusable and polluted from the previous Olin Mills plant.  Yet driving by you can clearly see the land is teaming with life, thriving.  This isn’t even the only likely place for secret activity, there are countless areas perfect for secret access, secret activity.  A town that has always had its secrets, a town that has always had whispers of military presence and activity.  A place where experiments are  potentially carried out in every way imaginable.  Alien crafts present since I was a child and likely before then.  It is a town with a palpable strange and strong energy.  Terrible things happened here over and over again.  Mass deaths, murders, oh the secrets.

  Historical documents conveniently inaccessible destroyed in fires.  Buried secrets and buried lies.  A town who has a secret history it doesn’t speak off, the witches. So many witches, but we don’t talk about that, we don’t acknowledge it.  A town full of religion and unaccepting of those types of things yet it was ripe with an underground of witches and practices.  Secrets hidden inside walls of old homes, artifacts and items of the hidden craft.  An old witch woman in the town that would stand out naked in the moonlight and curse the full moon, who recruited others to practice.  A witchy woman who preformed abortions, but we don’t talk about that do we?

A place where families hid their sins, sins of abuse, molestation and children conceived from those monstrous scenarios, a woman who admitted on her death bed to having hid her pregnant young daughter and delivering her at home, only to bury the infant alive with the hot coals from their stove.  Do you really think these are stories that were uncommon?  Women oppressed even still to this day by outdated old fashioned ideas.  Forced to stay home, abused, do not speak unless spoken to.  Do as you are told.  So many women still silenced.  Children still beaten behind closed doors, spare the rod, spoil the child.  Affairs, secret children and the witches, the witches are still there generations of them hiding in the shadows of the night, in the safety of their homes.  Paranormal activity off the charts.

  Blood stained dirt from deaths of the masses, the great massacre, so many slaves slaughtered.  So many slaves, it was a slave town there is no sugar coating that.  Land ripped away and stolen from Native Americans, stories lingering but almost forgotten of the deaths that occurred between them and settlers, they fought hard, scalping the invaders, slaughtering as many as they could to defend their homes, their families, their lives, but we don’t talk about that do we?  We don’t talk about all of the slave graves that were moved and relocated do we?  The hanging that happened to a black man on the hilltop above town long after that was common practice. Shhhh secrets, keep the secrets, they will be forgotten with time.  The people might not know, but the land remembers.  The ghosts that haunt the dark hollows the hillsides, the valleys, they remember.  They walk the roads wandering the town unrested, deserving of justice of acknowledgement of having their story told. 

A place where your Aunt had a roommate her whole life and was called a spinster because she never married.  Shhhh don’t even think it. What a shame to be brought upon your family.  Lovers hiding from plain sight, couples of the same sex, couples of different races, religions and everything inbetween deemed unacceptable.  Hills and valleys full of moonshine, secret murders, people never found.  Brothels, there was a well known and well used brothel in Allison’s Gap, I wonder ironically if that is how it got it’s name.  Married men high in the churches frequented it.  Rules didn’t apply to them and wives turned a blind eye because honey, they’re men, boys will be boys. Secret societies some still fully functioning today.

Creatures lurk here and you wonder why? Really, you still need to wonder? A town impregnated with so many lies, secrets, and injustices, wonder why so many of the dead can’t rest.  A tree removed from the cemetery because it was known as the witches tree supposedly where the witch of Buckeye did her rituals only it wasn’t.  That tree is still standing, shhh.  Murders within families, so many we likely know nothing about. Several suicides kept hush hush by the families only whispers of the devil and possessions.  Aliens and secret underground military bases and experiments don’t scare me, the living people, the ones still hiding things they scare me.

Published by izzysconfessions

I was born and raised in the smallest of towns in Southwest Virginia. A town that is extraordinarily active, yet a town that is like it's very own little mini Bible belt. My dad was Baptist, my mom pentecostal, and I'm paranormal. I would venture to say it is somewhat of a family trait. One that is met with equal acceptance and curiosity as much as it is met with skepticism. Individually and collectively so much has been experienced and witnessed at times to such a degree that one might wonder how on earth there is room for doubt. I dont have all the answers, I do not have it all figured out. Im as human as everyone else relying heavily many mornings on a lot of coffee and a little Jesus. In fact, I can't decide what I want for dinner most days. One constant is I cannot go a single day without chocolate. Pour a cup of coffee, or a little tea and whiskey and join me in my confessions of a haunted freak.

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