Skip to main content

The Meanest Man

  Georgia folktale about a man meaner than the Devil himself, and the real place where Spanish Moss comes from. 



Over in Savannah, Georgia, there lived a Wicked Man. Everybody feared him – he’d get neighbors fighting against one another (oh, he loved that!), he’d tie tin cans to the tails of cats, put poisonous things in children’s food. He even beat his wife and dog.

Nobody liked him – except the Devil, of course. ‘Cause you know how the Devil likes evil people. So that Wicked Man was right surprised when he was walking down the street one day, and he felt a presence behind him. He turned and looked, and there he saw the long arm of the Devil himself reaching out for him. The Wicked Man said, “Whoa! Mister Devil, you’re not comin’ for me, are ya’?”

The Devil said, “Well, I reckon I am! You’ve been here a long time!”

The Wicked Man said, “Oh, Mister Devil, I got so much meanness left in me. Could you let me stay here just a little bit longer? C’mon, please?”

Well, the Devil was a little bit reluctant to take him back down anyway. So he said, “Alright, I’ll let you stay here a little bit longer.”

Then the Wicked Man said, “Oh, Mister Devil – just one more thing. I know it’s askin’ a lot of ya’, but next time, could you not sneak up on me like that? Could you give me a sign first? Something I could see? Something I could hear?”

The Devil said, “Alright, no problem – it’s a deal.” And he went back down.

Then that Wicked Man got a big ol’ grin on his face. You see, he wasn’t only just as mean as the Devil – he was as smart as the Devil, too. He knew he was getting older, and was going both blind and deaf! So anything that the Devil sent for him to see or hear – why, that Wicked Man wasn’t going to be able to do it!

Dirt road lined with Spanish Moss trees, Bonaventure Cemetery, Savannah, Georgia

And that’s just what happened. Time passed, and the fella just kept doin’ his evil ways. The Devil came back up for him many times – flashin’ his name out in lightning, thundering it out in the clouds. But that Wicked Man couldn’t see it or hear it – so he couldn’t die!

Finally, the Devil just gave up, since there was nothing he could do. After all, a deal’s a deal. So the Wicked Man just kept on wandering around spreading his nasty ways. He headed up north up to Charleston, South Carolina, then up through Wilmington, North Carolina, and as far north as Virginia Beach, Virginia. Then he went on back down to New Orleans, Louisiana, and over to Jacksonville, Florida, and then back over to Savannah. He couldn’t eat anything – berries would shrivel up when he walked by, animals would run away, and the water would turn black before he could drink it. Nobody would talk to him – he was all by himself.

And he kept getting skinnier and skinner – in fact, the only thing that grew on him was his hair. It got long and gray and wiry, and would catch on every tree and bush that he passed, and the wind would blow it around.

One day, he just disappeared, and the only thing left behind was his hair. It just kept growing everywhere he’d been. Southerners call it “Spanish moss,” but that ain’t what it really is. It’s the hair of the meanest man who ever lived. Y’all come down and try to pick some of it. He’s left a nice surprise for you – a chigger or two just itchin’ to get under your skin. To let you know where that mean ol’ man has been!

– THE END –


Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Mud: Tennessee Ghost Story

  Tennessee ghost story of a killer who encounters a strange old man along a dark road after burying his victim. What does this old man know about his crime? Find out in this short story by Andy Hinton. Although the walk should have been easier without the load, the adrenaline and whisky that had fuelled Jason earlier in the night is exhausted, and what energy remains is being used to shiver himself warm. As a result, it takes him half an hour to get back to the car. But time is relative, for what is half an hour in a night that never ends. Jason leans the shovel against the trunk and reaches into his right pocket for the keys; finding none, he goes to his left pocket and digs deeper. Then he runs both hands through all his pockets and rechecks them again. “Damn it.” Jason kicks the car, but the sound is muffled by the storm. He is angry enough, cold and worn out enough, to break a window, but he knows he needs the keys to drive home if he is ever to be done with this dreadful...
Post a Comment
Read more

Mama Coon Coon: A Louisiana Swamp Folktale

  Now I’ll just bet that none of you have ever heard the story of Mama Coon Coon and the blue waters of the bayou, have you? Well, we know the story, and I think we need to tell it to you right now. Once upon a time, the waters of the bayou were black – as black as ink. Now, even though these waters were black, they were still filled with lots and lots of fishes, shrimp and crab. And all of the fishermen would wake up early in the morning, long before the sun had even come above the horizon, and they would cast their nets down into the deep, black water. And what a wonderful sight it was at the end of the day to watch those fishermen pulling in their nets overflowing with all kinds of fishes, shrimp and crab. Dulac Louisiana Bayou by  Clem . Licensed under  CC BY-SA 2.0 . Now all the fishermen fished early in the morning, with the exception of one fisherman – or should I say fisherwoman. Her name was Mama Coon Coon. You see, that is the name the local village children gav...
Post a Comment
Read more

Ibo Landing

  Near the mouth of Dunbar Creek on Georgia’s St Simons Island, there’s a section of swampy marshland known as “Ibo Landing” where some fishermen refuse to cast their lines. In the daytime, it doesn’t look any different from the other vast marshes stretching across Georgia’s coastal islands. Elongated white herons call to one another over the endless plain of reeds and mosquito infested marsh grasses. Fiddler crabs scurry across the sands. Unseen creatures plop into the black waters. St Simons Island, Georgia near Ibo Landing But when night falls, it is said that one can hear a different sound entirely. Swamps are known to make strange sounds at night. But if you listen closely, you may hear what sounds like the faint rattling of chains drifting across the marsh, followed by an eerie chant: “The water brought us the water will take us away.” If you think your ears are deceiving you, think again. For the old timers in the area will tell you what you’re hearing is the brave warrior O...
Post a Comment
Read more