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THE LEGEND OF FRENCH CREEK: CONTINUED

March 22, 2026 at 12:24 pm Leave a comment

THE LEGEND OF FRENCH CREEK: CONTINUED

I pulled a small pad and a pen from my shirt pocket.  “Mind if I take some notes?”

 “Hell no.  Most around here know the story – it’s no secret.”

 He began his tale.

 “Grandpa first told me this story when I was young.  Wanted to scare the hell out of me, I suppose.  Used to enjoy doing that a lot.  Starts back in the late 1700’s when some people moved in that weren’t welcomed in this neck of the woods.  They came from England.  Some kind of pagan cult called Drubids.”

 “Do you mean Druids?” I asked.

 “Ya, something like that.  Anyway, they wanted to be left alone so they built a house way out in the woods.  There was men and women, but no children.  Young, they was.  Maybe eight or ten of them.

 “Seems the locals, being of the religious type, didn’t take too kindly to these pagans.  Then the trouble started.  Farm animals turned up missing, some cows and sheep.  The locals suspected treachery by the pagans, but they kept their peace.  Then, within two weeks’ time, three children went missing.  A group of townsfolk paid a visit to the pagans.  The heathens said they knew nothing of the animals or children disappearing.  But the locals thought they were acting suspicious.

 “This all happened in the spring.  Then came the massacre.

It was the night of the summer solstice.  The nearest residents to the pagans reported a red glow in the forest that night.  Some of the local men, well-armed, went to investigate.  They approached the pagan camp and saw the men and women dancing naked around a fire.  There was a pile of cut-up carcasses, no one could tell what they were being thrown into the fire.

 “One of the men, nervous I suppose, shot into the air and the pagans made for the cabin.  The story goes that the men surrounded the cabin, and then someone threw a blazing brand onto the roof.  The cabin caught fire.  Screams could be heard coming from the house.  Some of the pagans tried to escape through the door and windows, but they were shot and fell back into the inferno.  While they waited on of the men poked around in the fire.  Found bones, small human bones so the story goes.  The men of the town remained until the house collapsed.  By morning, it was just a smoking ruin.  They left and said little of what they had done to anyone outside the community.  Some of the curious would visit the site of the pagan compound, but that ended after a while.  And as time passed, the story faded but was not totally forgotten.

“It was in the early 1920’s when a new preacher came to town.  During the late summer the townsfolk said they would build him a house.  He walked not far from the church and saw a level area with little growth.  Apparently, the damn fool picked the site where the pagans’ cabin once stood.

 “The house was built before winter set in, and the congregation spent the remainder of the winter and the next spring worshipping, led by the new minister.

 “Then the night of the summer solstice arrived.  No one knows what happened, but the minister’s house burnt down that night with him in it.  The church caught fire and burned to the ground too.

 “Eventually, during the depression, the town died, and the area returned to wilderness.  Here’s where the legend takes over, my young friend.  All the buildings were overgrown by the forest except for the minister’s.  The concrete slab that served as its foundation is still there, along with some burnt up debris.  The forest won’t touch that rubble, so the legend says, because the pagans still dwell there underground.  I don’t know exactly where it is, but it’s somewhere on the perimeter of French Creek State Park.  Folks say it’s still there, easy to find along one of the popular trails, but I never bothered lookin’.  Some say they get a strange feeling when they hike past the rubble on the day of the summer solstice.  No one goes there that night.  Campers all stay snug and warm by their fires or in their tents, and town folks safe in their homes.”

 “That’s a great story,” I told the old man.  “Maybe I could use some of it in a story.  But first, I’ll try to find the ruin you mentioned.”

 “Don’t know if you should, mister.  All legends have a bit of truth.  I wouldn’t want to cause you any harm.”

 “Don’t worry.  I’ll be careful.”

 I shook his hand and left the small store, my mind full of ideas. I kept in mind the details he gave me about the location of the minister’s house.  With our impending camping trip to French Creek State Park, I thought the coincidence was perfect for me to do some research.  If I could locate the site I could use the surroundings to give my story a realistic bent.

                                   TO BE CONTINUED

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