'Ten Bridge Hollow' Poem by Poison 9901

There is a town in Virginia, Saltville as I recall
It wasn’t anything fancy, in fact, it really was quite small
Hidden safely in the Appalachian mountain range, just off I-81
Years ago as history states, is where my story had begun

See, we lived on the side of a mountain, in an old confederate home
Built in the days of the Civil War, high atop a old salt dome
A one lane road lay in front of it, then it dropped, thirty feet to the tracks
I can still recall the sounds of the passing train’s rhythmic, clackity clacks

We had some friends of ours, that lived a mile or so away
As kids we’d walk to their house, and spend the day and play
Half way between the two houses, Ten Bridge hollow was the mark
Always swearing to ourselves, we’d be past it long before dark

My grandfather told us the story, of how Ten Bridge got its name
He never, ever faltered, each time the story was the same
He told us of a mad man, which had escaped a confederate camp
Armed with only a skinners knife, few supplies, and a conductors lamp

He headed into the mountains, making it harder to track him down
Following the railroad tracks, he knew they’d lead him further from the town
A week or so had passed, and they gave up on ever finding him alive
With no supplies and a skinners knife, they figured he never would survive

Summer soon passed and the days got shorter, as falls briskness filled the air
But there was something in the mountains, something they had forgotten up there
An engineer on an inbound locomotive, was the first to discover the grisly sight
Ten heads without eyes, severed with a knife, had been hung by their hair that night

One by one they took them down, and placed each head in its own hat box
As the residents of the tiny little town of Saltville, feel deep into a state of shock
They searched for the rest of the bodies, nothing more has ever been found
As the locals gathered in the cemetery, and placed the heads in sacred ground

They say that thru the month of October, before its 31st day
If your out towards Ten Bridge Hollow, a conductors lamp you might see sway
But be warned you don’t get mesmerized, don’t just stand and stare
Lest in the morning of the 31st they find your head, hanging by its hair

The story still remains today, just as it was told to me, some forty years ago