The Shy Folk: A Story by Bonnie Douglas

(Also known as Bonnie and Doug DeMoss)

We finally wrote a new story! It’s been a couple of years, but we’re back to writing! This one is inspired by a bathtub that is sitting next to a branch (small creek) that runs through our property in Western North Carolina (Smoky Mountains). I assume it was put there to catch runoff or something, and it’s not used anymore, but we jokingly call it “Bigfoot’s Bathtub.” This little joke turned into The Shy Folk. Enjoy.

**Thanks to Gail Meath for editing.

The Shy Folk

         Growing up in the holler, I had always admired my Granny’s yard.  When Spring broke every year, it would be filled with flowers of all kinds.  Towering columns of 7 Sisters roses, wild daisies, daylilies (one word) in riots of differing colors, and so many patches of tulips and daffodils it was like a carpet climbing over the hills at the top of the holler where her small cabin clung.

          After a day of swinging on grape vines, chasing turtles, salamanders, and crawdads in the branch that trickled down the mountain, I’d bring her a giant bouquet of flowers, picked from the fields that speckled the clearings.

        “Granny!” I shouted as I burst through the screen door, opened to let the fresh Spring breezes clear the last vestiges of Winter from the cabin, “ I brought you some flowers!” I was 17 years old by then, but some things never change.

         Granny smiled, gathered up the bouquet, and placed it into a large brown crockery pitcher on the table.  Smiling as she arranged the flower in the pitcher, she said, “Well, the gardener outdid themself this year that’s for sure!”

         “What do you mean ‘themself’? I said with a humph.  “Aren’t you the gardener?”

         She smiled.  “Jim, I grow the tomatoes, potatoes, green beans, and corn.  But the flowers come from a master horticulturist who lives in these very woods. Let me tell you a story.  It starts when I was a little girl…”

         “Ginny!”  My father called. “It’s time to come in for supper.” 

         I pulled my sweater around my thin shoulders and headed towards the house.  Spring was in bloom, but it was still a bit chilly. The winter had been hard, with long days and nights spent huddled around the wood stove.  I was looking forward to warm summer days exploring the woods, fishing, searching for herbs, and picking flowers. Of course, there would be hard work too.  Planting and caring for the vegetables we would eat all year, including during the winter.

         Before I reached the house, I heard a rustling noise and instinctively looked up.  Something was heading up the ridge. It looked like a fairly large animal, but I wasn’t sure what it was. 

         “Daddy,” I said when I reached the house.  “I saw something head up towards the top of the ridge.  A bear maybe?” 

         Momma was frying potatoes and heating green beans, and a skillet full of crispy brown cornbread was warming on the top of the stove.  Daddy sat at the table, sipping the first of his hot coffee from a saucer. 

         “I haven’t seen any bear sign,” he said, slowly.  “But I will take a look.  Maybe it was a deer or an elk.”

         “Too tall and hairy for a deer or elk,” I mumbled around a mouthful of the cornbread I had grabbed in passing and sat down at the table. 

         “Well, you best take care,” My Momma said, heaping potatoes onto Daddy’s plate.

         “I doubt it was a bear,” said Daddy.  “No need to worry.”

         After dinner, I stepped outside, gazing far up the ridge in the fading light.  Even though the trees had lost their leaves long ago, when autumn was fading, I still couldn’t see very far.  I vowed to go exploring.

         Two days later, I hiked slowly up to the top of the ridge.  The way was steep, so I had taken my walking stick, which Daddy had carved for me.  It helped me on the slippery slope.  I looked as I walked, searching for prints, but I couldn’t see anything.  As I walked, I heard a rustle and saw a shape, smaller than I remember, slipping through the trees.  It had light brown fur. Not a deer.  A bear maybe?  Soon it was gone, out of sight.

         At the top of the ridge, I came to a meadow, surrounded by trees.  We sometimes came up here to pick apples and blackberries. The trees were just beginning to blossom. I wasn’t sure what was beyond the apple trees, but I was determined to find out. 

         “Goodness,” I exclaimed, sitting down to rest on a large rock.  I had a couple of pieces of cornbread with me and a flask of water.  As I rested, I scanned the area around me.  I could see a thicker woods up ahead, and I was determined to see if the wild “animal” was indeed an animal.  You see, I had an idea in my head, and I wanted to see if it was true.

         I’d heard stories of a wild man living in these woods, part man, part creature.  I just wanted to see if they were real.  I didn’t feel any fear back then.  Back then, I thought nothing would ever happen to me.  So I strode on, across the ridge and heading down into the holler in a part of the woods I’d never entered before, even further back into the forested hills higher up in the mountains.

         I never expected to see four of them.  They were splashing in a deep part of the creek, maybe bathing.  I hid in the trees, high on a crumbling bank at the creekside edge, barely breathing.  They seemed like a family, two parents and two littler ones.  Their bodies were covered in dense, heavy hair.  The parents were tall, taller than anyone I’d ever seen.  The children were smaller, but still taller than a grown man.

         As I watched, fascinated, I felt myself slipping….

         With a shriek, I tumbled head over heels down the steep bank and slammed down on the rock-covered shelf on the side of the creek.  Dizzily, I struggled to pick myself up and run back home.  The last thing I remember is hearing the rapid splashing of someone approaching and a pair of golden amber eyes staring into mine as I collapsed in a heap, unconscious.

          I don’t know how long I was out, but it was long enough for someone to move me from where I fell and arrange a bower of soft pine branches, ferns, moss, and other fluff where I managed to pry my eyes open.  The first thing to hit me as I gathered my wits was the scent.   Not exactly unpleasant, more reminiscent of an old barn full of unused hay and the memory of animals that used to shelter there, mixed with flowers. Gradually, my eyes adjusted to the dim light filtering into a glittering compact den from a small opening in the roof and another opening that had to be an entrance.  Every part of the tidy nest, walls, floor, and ceiling was covered in rocks bearing mica and quartz, reflecting just enough of the sunlight to let me get a look around.

   Gingerly, I raised myself off the warm comfort of the bower and straightened carefully, feeling all the bumps and bruises of my tumble down the bank, along with the dull throb of the knock on my head. With a slight groan and a stretch, I stepped carefully around the tidy, glimmering shelter. Glancing into every nook and cranny, I spied plants of almost every variety. Bunches of flowers sat nestled next to piles of various fruits and nuts, mushrooms, tubers, and herbs I couldn’t identify. A tiny pile of embers flickered and popped, casting a wan glow inside a niche that apparently opened somewhere outside to let the tendrils of smoke disappear.

A few items, which must have been cast-off or lost by previous owners, were scattered around. A small basket with some cloth, a battered tin cup, a dented copper pot missing a handle, a few pieces of broken crockery, and even what appeared to be an old twig broom standing near what could only be the entrance. 

           I couldn’t hear anything, no sound of any occupants, just the rushing of water from near the entrance.  I knew I’d need something to make some sort of apology for being gone for who knows how long.  I grabbed the largest bunch of flowers, and with a shrug, I pushed through the entrance.  A solid curtain of water poured down just beyond the small shelf of rock, barely wide enough to stand on without being drenched.  Pulling my sweater more tightly, I shuffled my way out from behind the waterfall and picked my way down what appeared to be a set of stairs made with various strategically placed logs and rocks, all slippery and damp with the mist from the roaring waters.

         With a slight gasp of relief, I made my way safely onto the bank of the same creek where I had seen the strange family.  I looked around carefully, squinting to try and catch a glimpse of them. I couldn’t see anything, but I could feel the pressure of their eyes on me. Looking around again, I patted the pockets of my coat and felt the water bottle I had brought with me on my hike.  I waved the flowers over my head, shouted “Thank you for your help!” and placed the flask on the nearly invisible path.  Clutching the flowers to my chest, I hurried back the way I’d come, not looking forward at all to getting back to the cabin and facing my parents.

         When I got back home, bearing a huge bunch of the most beautiful flowers I’d ever seen, which were blooming earlier than I had ever known, I thought I saw my parents exchange a knowing look.

         “Ginny, didn’t we tell you not to go beyond the meadow, and never down into the next holler?” Daddy demanded, pulling a mossy poultice I hadn’t even noticed off the place where I had knocked my head when I fell.

         All I could do was nod, but inside I was wondering how he knew where I’d been.  I also knew this wasn’t the time to ask that question. 

         My mind raced as I thought about the creatures.  I ate a bowl of beans and cornbread that I’d missed at supper, as I had arrived home after dark. A glass jar full of my beautiful flowers sat on the table.  I waited for Daddy to forbid me to go back there, but he didn’t.  I guess he thought once was enough. It was strange, though, that he said no more about it. I knew, however, that I was going back. I wanted to take them a gift, something more than the flask I’d left behind, as thanks for helping me.  But I wasn’t sure what to give them.

         And go back I did, a couple of weeks later.  As I stood above the banks of the creek I had fallen into, I looked for the strange family, but could not find them.  I wandered down to the creek and then began to follow it, staying undercover as much as I could. 

         As I walked, I thought of the family.  The gift I’d brought them was in a bag on my shoulder.  They’d seemed content, bathing and playing in the creek. I’d brought some of my Momma’s lye soap and a towel she had made me from a flour sack. I had two to my name and was giving the family one of those.  I had wanted to stitch THANK YOU onto it, but I figured they couldn’t read it.  Instead, I painstakingly stitched a little lilac, albeit in black thread, because that’s what I had.  I hoped they knew what it was.

         As I walked along, flowers began to appear on the path, scattered at first, and then more abundant.  Before long, I realized I had walked into a garden.  Lilies, daisies, and my favorite, lilac, lit up the garden with color.  Rose bushes in all colors added to the beauty.  How were they blooming so early? As I walked farther on, I saw some vegetables peeking out.  Watermelons and pumpkins, still small and green, and yellow squash blossoms, bees buzzing about them, greeted me. 

         She was there suddenly—one of the children, a girl, I think, towering above me.  I stared at her a moment and then held out my bag.

         “A gift,” I said softly.  “Thank you for saving me.”

         She didn’t take it. 

         “For you,” I urged. “Please.”

         An even larger creature was suddenly with us, the mother, I think.  I held out the bag again, but they both backed away.  I opened the bag, showing them the soap and towel. I don’t know if they understood, but the mother took it.

         “It’s soap,” I explained, having no idea if she knew what soap was.

         “Your garden is beautiful,” I said, not knowing if they understood me.  I turned and pointed to a small field of early sunflowers, waving gently in the breeze.

          “Do you like the sunflower seeds?” I asked, turning back around to realize I was talking to myself.  They were gone. But they’d taken my gift with them, and that was something. Since the sun was shining and it was a pleasantly warm day, I figured I might as well explore a little further into the riotous maze of the garden.  Humming a tune, I looked around, running my hands through blossoms and stopping to try to identify plants I didn’t recognize.  As I wandered aimlessly, soaking up the warmth of the sun, I found myself on what could only be a path, though it was hard to pick out even when I was on it, due to the dense growth of the gardens and surrounding forest. The sounds of the forest quieted as I approached a large, perfectly round clearing in the forest.  I didn’t see anyone, but again I could feel the pressure of eyes watching me. I practically tiptoed into the clearing, not sure what to expect.  There was nothing there except for a single hollow stump and a large, moss-covered boulder with a flat top.  I could see something set on top of the boulder, so cautiously, I stepped nearer to see what it was.

     Centered on the boulder was a small bunch of lilac flowers tied with a bit of purple thread and a wrinkled sheet of newspaper with a pile of sunflower seeds on it. From last year’s crop, I assumed.  Smiling to myself, I muttered, “Well, even if they don’t say anything, it sure seems like they can understand what I’m saying.  I’d best mind my manners.” 

          I gathered up the gifts and looked around the forested walls of the clearing, trying to spy some sign of the shy folk without success. 

    “Thanks again for your kindness and the gifts!” I hollered. “I’ll be back soon to see your gardens.”

As I turned to hurry back home with my treasure clutched to my chest, I heard a rustle of branches and heard a quiet “hoot”.  Turning to look back at the sound I spied the smaller girl child peeking from behind a tree, uttering another quiet “hoot”.  She raised her hand in a tentative wave. With a huge grin, I waved back, holding the bunch of lilacs.  “See you later Harriet!” I said. 

 Waving and grinning like a lunatic, I turned and skipped back down the trail to home.

           I hit the top of the ridge above the holler where our cabin sat and skidded to a stop when I heard my Daddy’s gruff voice quietly speak my name, “Ginny” and he filtered out of the shadows of a large tree with a stormy frown on his face.  Quickly shoving the bunch of flowers and the bundle of sunflower seeds behind my back, I pasted the most innocent look I could muster onto my face.

         “Yes, Daddy?” I answered, proud that my voice only quivered a little because I suddenly recalled that I wasn’t supposed to be going past the very spot I was standing in.  

 Hands on his hips, he asked, “Where have you been?  And think long and hard before you decide to lie to me.”

And so the story came out:  How I followed the mysterious creature, fell into the creek, and discovered a special family.  Daddy said nothing while I talked.

When I was done, he took a deep breath. 

         “So you know now.” 

I was shocked at his lack of surprise, and my face must have shown it.

         “Do you think you’re the only one who’s gone over to that holler?  Do you think I haven’t?”

         I gaped at him.  “Have you?”

         “Many times.  When I was 15, my father took me there.  I met the “Old Man,” we called him.  He knew our family a long time.  (We traded with him that first day. We traded meat we had caught for his vegetables and seeds.  The Old Man was quite a gardener.  Everything he grew was bigger and better. He could even grow some things out of season. It was almost like magic. He had a family, a wife and son.  When he died, we helped bury him in that holler.  Same when his wife died.  His son left for a while to be with others like him.

“There are others?”

“Yes, there are others.  He has people all over these mountains and in other states. His son came back with a wife, and now they have a family.”

“Do you still see them?”

“Sometimes.”

“How do you talk?”

“Gestures.  Pictures drawn in the dirt.  He and his family have picked up some words and know the names of the flowers.  I can’t seem to understand their language, though.  The way they talk to each other.”

“What are they?” I asked. 

         “One of God’s Creatures, just like us.” Daddy replied.  “But they hide from the treatment of men, who have chased, hunted, and killed them.  Some call them Wild Men, especially over in Tennessee.  In Virginia, they carry the awful name of Wood Booger.  I prefer to call them The Shy Folk.

“Why is it such a big secret?”

Daddy sighed.  “Do you think people would leave them alone, or even let them live, if they knew? So you must keep the secret too, Ginny.  Always.”

Granny returned to me from her memories. 

“Jim, I’m telling you this because I won’t always be here. This whole world is changing, and it’s not for the better.  When I was much younger than you, this whole mountain was empty, just our family and the Shy Folk in the hidden hollers up above.  Our family lived and worked this whole part of the mountains.  Then came a time when the government decided that they had to “save” us from our lives, and these mountains were a good place to make part of the mountains a National Park.  Never mind that it was already protected, not only by us and the Shy Folk, but by the isolation that made it possible for all of us to survive.”

   Leaning forward, she fixed me with a glare, a glare so intense and fierce that I recoiled slightly, “James, you’re the last of my line. You’re the only one I can entrust with this last little remnant of our family’s legacy. You’re young yet to make a decision like this, but I’ve got a feeling I’m not going to greet too many more Springs.  You’re the only one of the family who has shown any interest in the family land and what it holds.  If you decide you’re not interested, I’m afraid of what will happen to what we’ve stewarded for so many generations.”  She sat back with a sigh, “So much has been sold off or lost to bad decisions, and now our precious hills are covered with rich folks ‘vacation’ homes and paved roads instead of animal trails. You’d never know we were in a remote holler. I can’t even imagine what will become of poor Harriet.”

    With a start, I sat forward, “What! You mean one of them still lives up in the holler?” I nearly shouted

   “Of course she does, I just told you she was the one taking care of making sure the flower gardens were up to snuff,” Granny said quietly.

   “But Granny, she must be really old if she’s been up there since you were a kid,” I stated, awestruck

         “Well, thanks for that vote of confidence on my elderly status,” Granny chuckled.  “Harriet is at least my age, but since we can’t really count together, that’s only a best guess. She’s been alone since her brother left not long after her parents died.”

      “How long has she been alone, Granny?” I asked not really wanting to know the answer. I knew how it felt to be alone since my Mom had died not long after we moved back here to holler to live with Granny and Paw.

          “She’s been alone a bit longer than I have, Jimmy” Granny answered quietly as a single tear tracked slowly down her deeply wrinkled cheek. With a sniff, she squared her shoulders back up and looked wistfully at the mantlepiece covered in photos.

  “Her folks were in the same fire that took your grandpa and your Mama away from us.” Her brother then left to look for others like him. But Harriet has always stayed.

         Looking down into my lap and huddling into myself, “But Granny, that’s like a whole lifetime,” I said sadly, which it was for me since they’d both gone since I was just a little kid, barely 7 years old.

          “I need you to keep her secret, Jim.  And continue to trade with her.”

         “You still trade?”

         “Sure.” She smiled.  Harriet is skilled at growing herbs, and she has made poultices to help my rheumatism.   And she brings me flowers and vegetables.  I keep her stocked with soap, bath towels, meat, and some medicines.

         “But how does she remain hidden?”

         “Your great grandaddy, my daddy, bought the land in that holler years ago, in order to keep the Shy Folk safe.    He worked extra jobs to pay it off.  So Harriet has her cave home and garden, and a hundred acres.  She hides whenever anyone comes through.”  She turned a steely gaze on me. 

         “You are my heir.  You will inherit my land and Harriet’s.  You have to protect her. You must keep ownership of that land.” 

I nodded solemnly.  “I will.”

         “It’s time you met,” Granny smiled.

         “Are we going over to the other holler?”

She shook her head.  “Harriet and I have a meeting place.  Do you remember that huge, old bathtub that sits next to the branch?

I smiled.  “Sure.  I never knew where that came from.” I had a second thought. “She doesn’t bathe there, does she?”

Granny laughed.  “No,” but that is where we leave our gifts for each other now, since I can’t really climb ridges anymore.

“And Harriet can?”

“Oh yes.  She is still very strong.  I think she will live much longer than I do.”

“How does she know when to meet you?”

Granny beckoned me outside.  “Remember the dinner bell?”

The enormous black bell still hung on a post outside. 

“Sure. “We used to love to play with it as kids.”

“Yes, that was very confusing for Harriet,” Granny laughed.  You almost met her a couple of times.”

 “You see,” she grinned, “It was always more than a dinner bell. My Daddy put it up in order to communicate with the Old Man.  You and I might not be able to hear a bell in the next holler, but the Shy Folk can.  I will signal Harriet later.”

Granny rang the bell in the early evening, while it was still light. 

“If Harriet can come, she will,” she said primly, as I helped her slowly up the hill along the branch to the silly old bathtub, which was concealed in the trees.

And it wasn’t long before Harriet was there, carrying a spray of lilac.  Granny was holding soap.  It was no longer the lye soap of her youth, but a large bar of Dove and a bottle of bubble bath. 

Granny tottered unsteadily to Harriet and hugged her, looking like a tiny child against her mountainous frame.  They smiled and laughed together, and then Granny took Harriet’s hand and led her to me.

“Jim,” she said, pointing to me.

Harriet responded with a gentle trill, which I knew was a greeting.  I held out my hand, and she knew to shake it with her giant, furry one.  Granny had taught her much.

She and Granny then exchanged a series of signs, learned between them that told each one the other was okay.

Granny pointed at me and said, “Jim,” again and then made a sign. 

“That’s the sign for Friend,” Jim.  Harriet knows you are a friend.

     Granny knew what she was talking about when it came to her time to travel on.  She lasted just long enough for me to make it to my majority and allow me to inherit with no outside intervention. Walking outside, I rang the bell to let Harriet know I was back home with Granny.  Tugging a cart up the narrow path was easier than I thought it would have been, despite the heavy weight in my heart at the thought of burying my beloved Granny.  The simple pine box I had purchased from the local Boy’s Club was light enough for me to almost forget that it held someone so important. I’d prepared the hole earlier, and Harriet had come down out of her hidden spaces to help me find a suitable spot. It was no surprise that it was easy to dig and free from the rocks that made up most of the landscape. 

          As I approached, I caught a flicker in the shadows of the trees, and Harriet appeared almost as if by magic.  Her dense, heavy fur was now mostly white, but still streaked with patches of lighter brown.  She had tied ribbons of various colors and patterns that she had traded with Granny all through her fur, and tucked under her arm was a large piece of stone studded with mica and quartz.  Scratched in the center on a plain area was a lilac flower. 

  “That’s beautiful, Harriet,” I told her as I lowered the cart handle to the ground.  “I know Granny would love it, and it’s a perfect marker. She wouldn’t want anything else.”

          Harriet placed the stone at the top of the hole as I rigged up a sling to lower the simple box into the ground.  Soon enough, I had lowered Granny into her resting spot and filled it in slowly.  Harriet crooned softly, rocking in place, making motions with her hands all the while.

         Finally, tamping down the last of the mound of soil on top of the grave, I turned to Harriet and spoke softly, “Well, Harriet, it’s just you and me now. I know Granny will be watching out for us.”

          I reached out a hand for a shake, and she instead gathered me into a warm, comforting embrace.  With a soft hoot, she let go and held me by the shoulders, staring intently into my eyes before letting go and turning away to stride into the woods.

          It didn’t take long for Granny’s resting place to be surrounded by the start of a mass of flowers, most especially lilacs.  I could see that Harriet visited regularly, leaving small bits and pieces of things at the stone marker. 

         We traded regularly for a few years. I tried teaching her to write since my sign language abilities didn’t even come close to Granny’s.  I scratched my name onto a shiny rock and gave it to her as a token.  She seemed to like it, bringing me other bits of shiny rock and my favorite blackberries when we traded. Eventually, the intervals between our visits grew wider as Harriet took longer to respond to the bell.  Finally, the day came when she didn’t answer at all.  I waited a day before I trekked up to the high, hidden places to look for my friend. I searched unsuccessfully for a few days, finding a few remnants of her existence; bits of ribbon and other assorted baubles, but nothing of Harriet herself.

 Sadly, I hiked back home and sat by Granny’s grave

         “Well, Granny, it looks like I don’t have a secret to keep anymore. Seems like the last of the Shy Folk have passed from here.” I laid a small bouquet of lilac on her marker and made for home.

          A few days later, I was working listlessly in the vegetable fields that Granny tended so carefully when I heard the bell on the cabin ringing raucously. Dropping my tools, I ran up the hill.  Coming within sight of the cabin, I didn’t see anyone. Slowing to catch my breath, I walked cautiously up to the house.  As I approached, I saw a truly huge figure appear from seemingly nowhere.

         It was as white as Harriet had been, and in its arms was cradled her limp figure.

“Harriet!” I shouted as I ran towards my friend without a thought for the huge form holding her. As I drew closer, more figures came out of the woods. One was about Harriet’s size, with two smaller figures hiding shyly behind her, and another just as large as the one holding Harriet, but with deep, dark brown fur.  Skidding to stop, I made the sign for “friend” that Granny had taught me, pointed to myself, and said, “Jim.”

          The older being laid Harriett on the ground.  I could see she was gone.  The younger “man” came forward with an animal skin and covered her body.  To my surprise, the large, older being pointed at himself.  “Though it almost came out as a growl, I could hear “Frank.”  His name was Frank!  I don’t know where he’d been, but he’d been learning English.  He pointed at his son, I assumed, and said “Charlie.”  I was slowly introduced to June, Daisy, and Bob, at least that’s what I heard.  I gathered that Harriett’s brother had returned and brought his son and his son’s family.  

         We laid Harriett to rest in a grave we dug beside Granny.  I said a few words and prayed, but I had no idea if they understood me.  They were speaking amongst themselves and clearly had their own language.

         Harriet’s brother made the sign for Friend, and I returned it.  He turned and led his family back up the ridge.  I didn’t know for sure if they were staying, but I hoped so. 

         Two weeks later, I tried ringing the bell and walked up towards the bathtub. I had some soap with me, and huge towels for each family member.  I waited a while, but saw nobody.  Carrying the gifts, I headed back towards the house, a bit disappointed.  When I had almost reached the house, Frank emerged from the woods.  I smiled.  The gifts, and the secret, would continue.

I hope you enjoyed The Shy Folk! Thanks for reading!

And Here’s The Real Bathtub!

**This original story is creation of and the property of Bonnie and Doug DeMoss.