Growing up as teenagers in our small town, many of us remember and are very familiar with a place called, Munson’s Crossing. It is located just off the Natchez Trace, just passed the turn off from highway 12 at the Buffalo Baptist Church. Churches had hayrides that would stop her with a bonfire and wiener roasts, family picnics were enjoyed, and even some young adventurers were asked to leave by the local law enforcement ….uh-hum….
There is a legend that is told from my early childhood about the Munson’s Crossing and the people who used to own and farm the land many years ago. I’m going to share it with you, and YOU decide if you believe this and would like to visit this legendary piece of land.
There were two older ladies, Bessie and Isleta that lived about a half mile from Munson’s Crossing way back off the dirt road in an old Victorian home similar to those seen on R.L. Stine movies, Goose Bumps. It was in a state of dilapidation, but these two eccentrics just fit right into the jumble of falling doors, hanging shutters, and peeling paint. They were very happy with this disarray. There was a dirt driveway that led up to the once stately home with ruts your car could fall in because they didn’t have much company, especially automobile travelers.
We would visit Ms. Bessie several days before Halloween each year because she would always tell us the same tale every year. I don’t believe we ever believed the fascinating account, but I suppose we wanted that little nervous butterfly feeling inside that we all had as children. And, best of all, she always had her delicious popcorn balls made and wrapped and ready for us to enjoy.
She would begin her tale this way, “If you come into the Natchez Trace where highway 12 enters, turn left and go a few miles, you will come upon a place called ‘Witches Dance.’ This is the place of Max Munson’s demise.”
By this time, we were all spellbound and riveted to the sound of her scratchy voice. She continued, “The Munson family had owned all this land for hundreds of years and the witches had danced here for more years than that. But until that fateful night, no one had ever seen the witches.” One night before Halloween, close to midnight, Max was coon hunting in the dark of the woods and he heard a high singing, chanting and he could smell smoke. Being curious, he began to inch closer and closer, hiding behind the big shadowy trees.”
Then she told us, as always, a witch knows when she is being watched. So, one of the “ladies” had slipped upon Max and grabbed him before he felt anyone nearby. They carried him over to the curling smoke coming from a big black pot boiling from the roaring fire beneath. One of the witches told Max that she was Grizelda, queen of the witches of Witches Dance and they would not, could not have a mortal discover their ritual. “Poor Max, he must have been scared to death. Well, actually he was!” and then Ms. Bessie would let out a big giggly laugh.
They danced around Max and began to chant. Ms. Bessie’s voice became very hushed as she began to repeat the chant. “Razil, Dazil, dead man rise. May you forever see my face in your eyes. You will wander these woods, a terrible sight, and you will return here each Halloween night.” At that time, we were all sufficiently scared enough for this year by her repeated story.
We would leave the old house carrying our popcorn balls and all declaring how we would never believe in such a tale and especially not witches. But for several years, we would all drive out to Munson’s Crossing and pull in after dark, doors and windows tightly locked and motor running (for a fast get-a-way). No, No we were not afraid of witches.
MS. BESSIE’S POPCORN BALLS
2 cups unpoppped corn, 4 T. oil – 1 T. butter, 1 cup brown sugar, 1 cup of molasses, ½ t. salt. Popp the popcorn with the oil and butter, and salt. Then mix with sugar and molasses while warm and make into balls and wrap tight
