Month: February 2025

Urban Legends: Octagon House Hauntings

February 16, 2025February 16, 2025 Admin No Comments

DISCLAIMER: 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗂𝖼𝗅𝖾 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝗅𝗈𝗋𝖾𝗌 multiple urban legends. 𝖯𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝖼𝗋𝗂𝖻𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝖿𝗈𝗅𝗄𝗅𝗈𝗋𝖾, 𝗆𝗒𝗍𝗁, 𝗈𝗋 𝗎𝗇𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖿𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝖼𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍𝗌, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖻𝖺𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗇 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗆𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗌. 𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝖽𝗏𝗂𝗌𝖾𝖽, 𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝗍𝖺𝗂𝗅𝗌 𝗆𝖺𝗒 𝖻𝖾 𝗎𝗇𝗌𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗋 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖻𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝖳𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗂𝖼𝗅𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖻𝖾 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗇 𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝖼𝖼𝗎𝗋𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝗉𝗂𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝖿 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌. There are several urban legend-like stories that have been around for decades surrounding the Octagon House. These tales have almost become a part of local culture, at least with people of a certain age group. Let’s explore some of these tales. We have an actual brief history of the Octagon House HERE if you would like to read about the factual history before you embark upon the local stories. Abijah’s Ghost Walk On December 1st, it is said that the ghost of Abijah Thomas appears at dusk as an eerie blue-white glow, moving between the remains of his beloved octagonal house, Mountainview, and the Thomas family cemetery just up the hill, where his grave is located. It is believed that he returns on the anniversary of his unexpected death to check on his cherished home. The sightings are not interactive, and all reports suggest that this is a residual haunting rather than an active one. This ghost story is perhaps one of the longest standing stories to be passed around locally. The Cellar The cellar is often regarded as the most haunted spot on the property and is the focal point of numerous tales of malevolent paranormal encounters. It is said to have been the site where slaves were beaten for failing to perform their work properly. Various versions of the story have circulated, but the most widely known claims that if you stand on the ground behind the house, where the cellar once was, after sunset, you will be confronted by an evil spirit that demands you leave the property. Those who do not heed the warning may suffer physical harm. Other accounts suggest that visitors can hear the anguished screams of those who died on the property, emanating from this mysterious cellar. This version also ends with the evil spirit confronting those present, urging them to depart. Some people feel compelled to bring a rosary, crucifix, or other spiritual items for protection if they dare to visit the location. It is factually known that there was no evidence of a cellar found anywhere around the house and specifically not at the rear of the house near the back door as most of these tales indicate. Additionally, according to various local historical sources, many of the slaves who were owned by Abijah Thomas remained there after slavery was abolished following the Civil War and done so because they were treated well by the family. The Dark Room The dark room was another area on the property known for paranormal activity. Located on the second floor at the top of the stairs, it was centrally situated in the house. The room had no windows and only one door. Popular stories about it included rattling chains, eerie screams, slamming locking doors and blood stains on the floor and walls. It was said to have been a place where slaves, and sometimes even the Thomas children, were punished—locked away for long periods without food. Given its location on the second floor, attempting to access the room, especially in the dark, would have been dangerous—particularly during the time when people dared to enter the house after it had been condemned. The room itself was oddly sized, making it suitable for storage as it was intended. While no blood stains were found on the remaining white plaster walls, there were dark stains on the floorboards. However, it was determined these were not blood stains, but rather food stains from canned goods that had either broken or spoiled, leaving the dark stains. Priscilla Thompson, the daughter of Abijah Thomas, clarified in writing that the room had always been used for storage and that no one was ever punished there. She also mentioned that when the door was open, enough light came through to see whatever one was looking for in the room. This writing was reproduced in the article about the octagon house. The Ghost Who Threw People Out the Window As early as the late 1990s, a popular story began circulating about an especially angry spirit said to haunt the Octagon House. The tale was linked to a broken window on the second floor at the back of the house. A particularly jagged shard of glass remained hanging in the window frame, having not fallen out. According to the story, the spirit that haunted the second floor and guarded the dark room was so enraged by a trespasser who could not be convinced to leave, that it hurled them out of the window, throwing them from the second story with an unseen force, effectively ejecting them from the house. This became a widely circulated tale, often used to warn people to stay away from the second floor. While there are no verified reports of anyone actually being thrown out of a second-story window, countless stories have been passed down through the years about people—mostly young adults—visiting the property as a sort of rite of passage. Many went there in groups for a thrill, to get scared, or to drink and smoke pot. It’s possible that someone could have fallen out of the window, though it likely went unreported, possibly to avoid trespassing charges or other consequences. The Sign Of The Cross This story dates back to 2002. One evening, a group of high school students from Marion, along with a few from Sugar Grove, decided to visit the Octagon House just before sunset. Their goal was to explore the house and see if the rumors about it being haunted were true. They even considered holding a séance to see if they could provoke any paranormal activity. To avoid getting caught, they arranged for a friend to drop them off,…

Stories, Thomas, Thomas Bridge

Abijah Thomas and Holston Mills

February 10, 2025 Admin No Comments

The Rise and Fall of Holston Mills: A Historic Textile Town In 1844, industrialist Abijah Thomas made a significant investment in a 344-acre tract of land, complete with a sawmill and grist mill, in what would later become the town of Holston Mills. This land was nestled within a growing area that would become the heart of a bustling industrial hub during the 19th century. By the early 1860s, Thomas, along with a business partner, founded the Holston Woolen Factory, marking the beginning of the town’s rise as a textile center. The Holston Woolen Factory became a major producer of textiles, particularly wool, and played an integral role in the local economy. The village that grew around the factory adopted the name Holston Mills, a nod to the success and importance of the textile mill in the region. The town’s growth was not limited to the mill itself; as the factory flourished, so did the surrounding community. Residential areas, shops, and services began to spring up, creating a vibrant, self-sustaining village. The Impact of the Civil War During the American Civil War, Holston Mills found itself at the center of wartime industry. The village became the site of Co. A of the 23rd Battalion of the Virginia Infantry, and the woolen mill played a crucial role in supporting the Confederate war effort. The factory produced textiles for Confederate uniforms, contributing to the logistical needs of the Southern army. This connection to the war effort highlighted the strategic significance of Holston Mills, not just as a community, but as an essential manufacturing hub during one of the most tumultuous periods in American history. However, following the end of the Civil War, the mill and the town faced challenges. The industry was left dormant for a time, and the post-war years proved difficult for many Southern communities, as they struggled to recover from the destruction of the war. But Holston Mills would not remain stagnant for long. A New Era of Prosperity In the years following the Civil War, the Holston Woolen Factory saw a revival. In 1875, new ownership took over the mill, marking the beginning of a period of renewed prosperity for the town. With fresh investment, the mill, now known as Holstein Woolen Mills, began to expand once again. This resurgence allowed Holston Mills to grow into a fully developed village, with a school, shops, a post office, and a telegraph office. The mill and the infrastructure surrounding it helped solidify the town’s status as a thriving industrial community in the late 19th century. The new owners were instrumental in modernizing operations at Holstein Woolen Mills, ensuring that it remained competitive in a rapidly changing industry. As the town’s population grew, so did the demand for services, and Holston Mills became an attractive place for workers and families looking for employment opportunities in the textile industry. The Decline of Holston Mills However, as with many industrial towns, the fortunes of Holston Mills would eventually shift. In the early 1890s, Holstein Woolen Mills relocated to Salem, marking the beginning of the village’s decline. Without the mill as the central driving force of its economy, the town began to lose its former vibrancy. The population dwindled as people moved away in search of new opportunities, and the shops, post office, and other services that had once been vital to the community fell into disuse. Over time, Holston Mills was abandoned, and what had once been a bustling industrial village gradually disappeared. Today, little remains of the once-thriving town, but its legacy as an important part of the 19th-century textile industry lives on. The rise and fall of Holston Mills serves as a reminder of the rapid changes that can occur in industrial communities, and the impact that one mill can have on the development of a town. Holston Mills may no longer be a vibrant community, but its history stands as an important chapter in the story of America’s industrial past, illustrating both the opportunities and challenges that came with the growth of the textile industry in the 19th century. The location is on Red Stone Road, north of Old Mill Road/South Fork Road (County Routes 648/650). When traveling north, it will be on the right-hand side. A historical marker is located at or near 2107 Red Stone Rd, Marion, VA 24354, United States.

Adwolfe, Black History, Communities, Holston Mills, Industry, Thomas Bridge

The Abijah Thomas Octagon House

February 10, 2025February 16, 2025 Admin No Comments

Abijah Thomas was born on May 21, 1814, in what was then Washington County, later part of Smyth County when it was formed in 1832. He was the son of Thomas Thomas and grandson of John Thomas. At the time of his birth, the United States was still in its infancy, with only 18 states in the union, James Madison serving as the 4th president, and the War of 1812 just concluded. That year also marked the establishment of Francis Cabot Lowell’s textile mill in Massachusetts, which would later inspire Abijah’s own textile operations in Southwest Virginia. Raised in a farming family, Abijah’s father and grandfather had worked the land, but the region was rapidly industrializing, embracing manpower, water power, and horse power. Abijah adapted to this change, becoming a manufacturer of iron, textiles, and leather goods. His father, Thomas Thomas, held several significant roles in the community, including Justice of Washington County in 1806, overseer of roads in 1819, and Sheriff of Washington County in 1831-32. He also carried the title of “Esquire,” reflecting his high social standing. In 1795, a land survey granted John Thomas 230 acres along the South Fork of the Holston River, where he established a grist mill and sawmill. This same land would later become the site of Holston Mills, one of Smyth County’s first industries, founded by Abijah around 1860. Abijah’s father married Freelove Cole, daughter of Joseph and Remember Cole, early settlers from New York. She is credited with naming Marion, the county seat, in honor of Revolutionary War hero Francis Marion, the Swamp Fox, during a conversation at the Thomas home in 1832 during a visit from a commissioner. Abijah grew up on the farm, learning traditional skills like hunting, fishing, blacksmithing, and tanning animal hides. He attended a private school in Wythe County, learning reading, writing, and arithmetic, and later became a skilled carpenter and surveyor. Notably, he was one of the few to subscribe to a newspaper, which he would read aloud to neighbors. Abijah also built the first threshing machine in Smyth County and operated several iron furnaces and Holston Mills. When Smyth County was formed in 1832, Thomas Thomas and William Porter, Abijah’s brother-in-law, became justices of the new county. Abijah married Priscilla Cavinette Scott in 1836 in a ceremony performed at her parents’ home by Reverend Robertson Gannaway. At 22, Abijah and his 16-year-old bride set up their first home in a log cabin on the Thomas farm, near the site of the later famous Octagon House. Abijah owned slaves, and Priscilla managed the household, training servants, educating children, and caring for the servants, providing for their well-being, including sewing clothes and supplying bedding, blankets and quilts as needed. In 1856-57, Abijah constructed the Octagon House, also known as Mountainview, a striking and unusual architectural feat in the region. Built with the help of skilled carpenters, brick masons, and slaves, the house was inspired by Orson Squire Fowler’s octagonal designs and was the only one of its kind in Southwest Virginia before the Civil War. The home featured innovative design elements like triangular spaces used for closets and custom-shaped corner bricks. Built on a 10×10 central beam, the home sat on limestone hauled from an unknown quarry, with materials crafted on-site. It boasted 17 rooms and an intricate roof structure to support shingles and metal coverings. The Octagon House reflected a national “octagon fad,” inspired by Fowler’s own 1853 construction in New York. Some suggested that Abijah chose the design to ward off wind or to avoid being trapped in a corner by the Devil, while others thought he believed in the octagon’s superior qualities. The house’s 16-foot thick walls rose 22 feet to the roofline, with 32 windows providing natural light. A porch ran along the three front sides, and a second-floor promenade deck was accessible from the second-floor doors. The interior had a spacious layout with 8 rooms on the first floor, including a parlor with pink marbleized plaster and a chandelier, a family room with built-in storage, and a winter kitchen. Upstairs, there were bedrooms, including the Thomas girls’ rooms, a master bedroom, and the infamous “dark room,” used for storage, not punishment as urban legends suggest. The Dark Room is located in the center of the 2nd floor of the Octagon House and therefore has no windows or natural light. It has been the subject of many a horrific tale and has become an urban legend over the years. This room measures 15’ 8” x 8’ 1” and was factually used for storage of food and other items in the Thomas house. Some information can be found in a 1940 writing of Priscilla C Thompson, Abijah’s daughter which reads: The dark room upstairs was used as a store room, a catch-all for cotton bats, patent office reports, Congress records, etc. When the door into the upstairs hall was open, the room was sufficiently light to find anything wanted. The idea of my father using this room as a jail to punish any one of the children is all a myth. Urban legends tell a more horrific story of a haunted “slave house” where the owner used the dark room to whip and punish slaves and also lock up his own children as punishment. The size of the room wouldn’t be adequate for this as well as the fact that it is located on the 2nd floor making it not readily accessible for these purposes. Furthermore, the dark stains on the floor said to be blood stains are factually food stains from canned food that broke or spoiled after bring stored there long after the civil war and abolishment of slavery. The white plaster walls do not reflect any such stains. Abijah Thomas was said to treat his servants well contrary to urban legend. Upon close examination of the brick in the Octagon house, you can find the remaining fingerprints of the slave children who formed the bricks that were used in…

Black History, Families, Holston Mills, Homes, Industry, Slavery, Thomas, Thomas Bridge

The Wreck of the Number 9- A Day In The History of the Marion Rye Valley Railroad

February 4, 2025February 4, 2025 Admin No Comments

September 10, 1912 began like most other days, the crew boarded a boxcar coupled to the #9 Shay in Fariwood and headed up to their work site on Pine Mountain. Kent Steffey was a seasoned 45-year-old engineer, respected for his skill and experience. A proud member of the Brotherhood of Engineers Union, and a native of Wythe County who had relocated along with his wife to Wilson Creek, Grayson County. Steffey worked for Spruce Lumber Company. He was known for his dedication to his work, and on the fateful day in September, he was once again at the helm of Shay locomotive #9, taking on the daunting task of navigating Pine Mountain. The journey from Fairwood to the top of Pine Mountain was no small feat. Spanning about five miles, it took roughly an hour for Steffey to guide the massive locomotive up the switchback. The logging crew was dropped off and Steffey’s train was turned to begin its descent. It was here that things took a tragic and unexpected turn. As the train began its descent down the mountain, which featured a steep 6% grade, Steffey applied the brakes, expecting to slow the heavy load. However, to his horror, there were no brakes. The train began to pick up speed rapidly, and Steffey realized the full extent of the danger. Without brakes, he was helpless to slow the train as it hurtled downhill. He whistled to the back of the train to alert the Fireman. The train reached dangerous speeds, and the situation worsened as gears started stripping off the wheels, further reducing the train’s resistance. At this point, Steffey’s options were limited. In a desperate attempt to alert the crew and prevent a disaster, the fireman, Nute Bateman, tied off the whistle to signal impending doom. Bateman, fearing for his life, jumped off the train, narrowly escaping the impending crash and certain death. Meanwhile, Fields Anderson, the conductor, managed to lock the brakes on the last car in a last-ditch effort to stop the train. Realizing they had no chance of stopping the runaway train, Anderson also jumped, watching helplessly as the train sped away around the bend. Both Bateman and Anderson survived, though they could do nothing but watch in horror as the train disappeared around a curve in the mountain. Moments later, the sound of a horrific crash echoed across the valley. The two men rushed to the scene of the wreck, which wasn’t far from where they had jumped. As they approached, they saw the twisted, mangled wreckage of the train, derailed and overturned on its side. The wreck was a scene of utter devastation. Steffey, however, was not immediately found. It wasn’t until later that his body was discovered, crushed beneath the boiler of the 65-ton Shay locomotive. Kent Steffey’s death was a tragic loss. He was survived by his wife, Emma, and their four children: Mabel, Ruth, Virginia, and Mary. His passing left a deep void in the community, especially for his family and colleagues at Spruce Lumber Company. Despite the danger he faced, Steffey’s courage and quick thinking during his final moments, as well as the brave actions of his crew members, remain a testament to the sacrifices made by railroad workers every day. All that remains is his tombstone in Rural Retreat, Va., and this ballad, “The Wreck of Ole Number Nine.” Kent Steffey was an engineer, the best one on the line. Each morning he’d leave Fairwood with his Engine Number Nine. To the mountains he would go, making sure to run on time, Not knowing that his fate relied on his lucky Number Nine. Fields Anderson was conductor on that fateful day. The autumn sun shone brightly, painting the world in gay display. Beneath the clear, blue sky, no hint of danger lay, But the engine’s brakes refused to work, and Kent’s train ran away. “On brakes, on brakes!” he whistled, but the brakemen were all gone, And the fireman, Nute Bateman, thinking of his home, Leaped from the cab to save his life, as Nine dashed madly on. Still on the rails, the bell began its mournful clang, And across the mountain air, the sorrowful whistle rang. ‘Farewell, farewell,’ it seemed to say, and the wheels sang death’s song. It struck the curve with awful force, and from the rails she sprang. Beneath the wreck, now cold and still, the engineer was found, His body crushed and mangled, buried beneath the ground. Now poor Kent is sleeping beneath the mountain sod, His body cold and buried, but his soul has gone to God. ~Anonymous

History, Industry, Railroad, Stories