When people gather together on the scariest night of the year, Halloween night, invariably someone will interject their own personal frightful tale. Once the ice has been broken, there will be paranormal fables or ones about ghosts or goblins, but the telling of frightening stories cannot come to an end without a yarn about a witch.
Since I choose to tell only one story this dark quiet evening, I have chosen to share with you the macabre story of Molly Crenshaw, the "Voodoo Witch of Missouri."
It is said that Molly Crenshaw was a freed slave born in either Haiti or Jamaica, depending on who's telling the story. Details of her travels in the early part of her life are sketchy at best but, in the mid-1800s, she came to St. Charles, Mo., a small town west of St. Louis. While there, Molly made no attempt to conceal her late hour habits of casting spells and assorted voodoo practices.
Most of the people in the area were farmers and, each year, the successful harvesting of prized and bountiful crops was celebrated. Families were blessed with more than enough to eat, there was money enough for more than just the bare essentials and children grew up not knowing what hard times were like.
The people of St. Charles, those believers in Molly's sorcery who had feared but, at least from a distance, tolerated her when the crops were bountiful, were just as quick to blame her and the incantations, spells and potions when crops failed.
I guess that it's just in our nature as mortal people to often look for something or someone to blame when we fall upon hard times. So it came to be that a year of poor weather came to the area and, as a rational person might predict, crops across the area failed.
The years of plenty were then only memories. Now, Molly was not hated and had not been credited with the good years but then why should she have been. After all, she was just a harmless voodoo witch. There were some who had even bought charms and spells from her when she came to town.
On those occasions, Molly thanked them and wished them good luck. However, in the year of failed crops, there were those who believed that her mere existence was an affront to everything good and pure. Something needed to be done and then, and only then, would the crops return to the fields.
Some of the people in St. Charles began spreading words of hatred about Molly. There was talk that something of a drastic nature needed to be done and done soon. So it came to be that one darkened and moonless night, some of the townsfolk came to Molly's house and they came with malice in their hearts and they came with a length of rope.
One end of that rope was tossed over a sturdy tree limb and the other end, which had been fashioned into a noose, was placed over Molly's head and around her neck. Molly showed her utter disdain for those in the gathering and cursed them and all their children. Then the St. Charles witch was raised from the ground and hanged.
There were those in the mob, those of a murderous mind, who believed that, even after death, Molly might pose a danger. So, the still remains of Molly's body were hacked into small bits and pieces and those fragments were buried at various sites never again to be reunited.
There are those who love to spoil a good scary story and so it is with the tale of Molly Crenshaw. Many years after the time of the story and in an effort to learn more about the witch, research was conducted. When the results were in and the truth was found, the story turned from one of witchcraft to a tale of sadness.
The legend of Molly Crenshaw is one made up of sorcery and witchcraft and ends with her gruesome demise. The real story, one accepted by most, is a tale about a woman with a similar name, Mollie J. Crenshaw. Not only is the spelling of the first name quite different but so too are the stories of their lives.
There lived a kindly yet private unwed woman by the name of Crenshaw. She answered to the name Mollie and that name differed from the witch's name in spelling only. Mollie for many years devoted herself to her chosen profession, that of a schoolteacher.
As the years quietly and uneventfully passed, Mollie aged into her 50s but health became a very real issue for the educator for, you see, she lost the ability to discern even the slightest of sounds; the affliction of deafness fell upon her.
It was in the latter part of a cold winter when Mollie decided to visit a relative, Harry Towers. Towers had amassed a great deal of wealth and was well known in the St. Charles County area. Mollie valiantly tried to maintain her independence and worked a few hours a week but the work was not that of a teacher. The job was in St. Louis so the commute was long for her.
Mollie gathered for breakfast with the members of the Towers family on a cold February morning in the year 1913. Following her morning meal, Mollie retired to her room and, after a noticeable absence, one of her hosts went to her room to check on her condition. Aware that she could not hear the sound of the knocking, the door was opened and there laid Mollie.
A local physician was called but it was far too late. The physician determined that Mollie had committed suicide in a most gruesome manner. He pronounced the former teacher dead at 10:10 a.m. on Feb. 22, 1913. The cause of death was listed as a self-induced quantity of carbolic acid; when discovered, Mollie's mouth was covered with foam.
Some legends are fragile while others seem to be impervious when the glaring truth is exposed. Apparently, the story of the St. Charles witch has not been affected by the facts as, even to this day, people visit sites reputed to hold the remains of Molly.
There is one night each year, one very special cool late October evening when children dressed as ghosts, goblins and, yes, witches prowl the streets. These impersonators of nightmarish monsters ring the doorbells of ordinary and randomly selected houses beckoning the occupants within to open the door.
Once the entryway barrier is opened, the one summoned is greeted by small ones holding partially filled pillowcases and screams of, "trick or treat!" Lest bad fortune befall them, the innocent greeter is compelled to drop sweets into the sacks.
It is on that most frightening of nights that some, those who may be brave of heart or daft of mind, continue to search for the remains of the Voodoo Witch, Molly Crenshaw. But do not forget, Molly was cruelly dismembered and there is most assuredly more than just one burial site. Dare you to comb the woods surrounding St. Charles, Mo., for Molly's remains? I pray not, for some things are better left undiscovered.
Stan Fine is a retired police officer and Verizon Security Department investigator who, after retiring in 2006, moved from Tampa, Fla., to Noel. Stan's connection to Noel can be traced back to his grandparents who lived most of their lives there. Stan began writing after the passing of his wife Robin in 2013. Opinions expressed are those of the author.