Mud Puddles

Willie Mixon disappeared on July 22, 1959 having last been seen on or about the Cartwright property in rural Southeastern North Carolina. A thorough investigation gave no indication of foul play having occurred nor any definitive answer as to what happened to Mr. Mixon. All parties concerned remain close-mouthed about the case to this day causing some to speculate that this indicates there are some details about this case that has been withheld from the public. - Excerpt from "The Strange Case of Willie Mixon " By Howard Turner

That book caused my family no end of distress. The insinuation of course is that my family did something horrible to that poor black man and everybody that knew my family understood that such a thing was not possible.
It really wasn't necessary for us to prove that to those who had no relation to the case. And why should one try, after all we all know most people want to believe the worse about you unless they're really good friends or your relatives who know what kind of person you are when in their company and your guard is down.
The only people we had to convince was Mr. Mixon's family and that was not the least bit difficult. When he disappeared he did so right in front of my sister and my eyes and we were eight and ten years old respectively. We had no reason to lie when we told them what happened. And they certainly knew enough about children and we children in particular that they realized we couldn't have come up with something that was seemingly so farfetched that no one could think such a thing was possible, and because it seemed so farfetched one could only presume that it had to be true. And when we related it to Mr. Mixon's wife and his two sons they looked at each other as if they'd heard it from Mr. Mixon himself.
When we finished telling them the story standing there in the Mixon's living room the poor lady turned to her oldest son James and said. "Lord child it's true--it's true!" She said to him holding up her left hand as if beseeching the Almighty Himself.
She then fell into the arms of her son James and began to weep with the burden of her grief. James embraced his mother speaking soothingly to her assuring her they would get through this tragedy that had been visited upon them.

Ellie and I stood there witnessing their sorrow unsure of what we should now do. Our mother was on the porch having stayed out there so we could tell the story unaffected by her presence.
Finally James looked down on us and a sweet sympathetic smile came over his face. He was a handsome teenager who always treated my family with the utmost respect.
"Thank you Melvin–Eleanore–I'm so sorry you children had to see such a thing. Listen now children–you can never tell anyone this is what happened to father. No one would believe it, no one would believe it and then they might want to put the law on your family." he said releasing his mother.
He bent down to us now. Have you told anyone about this?" he asked. I was frightened for a moment, not that I thought James would do anything to me. I was afraid to tell him that we told someone–afraid to tell him that I didn't realize that it was a secret his family did not wish to divulge. It must have been rather obvious to him that this was how I was feeling. He smiled again.
"Oh listen Melvin don't worry–I understand you probably told your mama and daddy. Is that right?" he asked.
"Lord children I hope they's the only ones you done told this too–they'll think you done gone addled. James they might want to send these children off to Dix Hill or something." Lula Mixon said with near terror in her wrinkled face. "We'll have to speak with their mother and father mama–we'll have to tell them about this thing that happened to father. And it can go no further after that." He looked down on us again. "You understand that children? You nor anyone in your family can ever speak of this. But now you know. You should remember this if ever you are caught in the rain. You can warn others to be aware if a puddle is nearby–but don't ever tell anyone you saw this happen. If you do tell anyone they will never ever–never in a million years believe something like this happened. You will be looked upon as having some crazy notions, you will be shunned. We can't allow this to happen." "That's for sure children. Your family has always treated us with nothing but respect and we in turn appreciate it considering the way most white folks around here view colored people." Mrs. Mixon said with great charity.

Ellie and I took pride in the platitudes Mrs. Mixon was showering our family with. I would in the future often reconsider this judgment of hers however for the word n****r was spoken on a regular basis in our household. But I must admit that it was never directed at any in the Mixon family. It was usually reserved for persons such as Martin Luther king Junior or Adam Clayton Powell or any educated black man who was engaged in trying to secure the civil rights the constitution of this country supposedly bestowed upon all people and often reported on in the evening news.
"Your mama is outside on the porch isn't she Melvin?" Buster the younger of the two Mixon sons asked. "Yes." Ellie and I said in unison. "You best invite her in." Mrs. Mixon told him.
And so Buster went and fetched my mother into the room. They then had us repeat the story again. Not to the same detail for after all we had already described it for mama in such a manner. We told her almost right after it happened. But we likely did so with greater emotion for we were in terror of having seen it.
Once we were done James came close to my mother and spoke to her softly but with great emphasis as to the purpose of the discussion.
"They may think you folks have done something to father. The law would be out here 'cos even the death of a black man would demand an investigation. The prominent black men in the community would demand the Sheriff act. You would likely have to endure the anger of blacks and whites alike. The children would be drawn into it." he at last said. "You're quite right James. I will make sure it never leaves our home. We can't have these little ones involved." mother told him.
"So you must say father left your place and you have no idea what happened." Mother was shaking her head.
"Has anyone showed up yet." James then asked.
"No we didn't want to call anyone until we spoke with you boys and your mama." mother told him. "Good. He must have been on foot because his pickup is still down near the barn." James now said.
"Yeah he just walked over asking if he could borrow some extra balls of tobacco twine–said he didn't have quite enough for tomorrow's stringing." mama said. "Then you have to just say he left there and you don't know what happened." James instructed.
"Oh James then they'll suspect one of you." mama decided.
"They probably will Mrs. Cartwright–but we can't let them think you folks did something–that just wouldn't be right." he said. And now he turned and rubbed the both of us on the head.

And now mama tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around to her his face betraying his sadness. "Listen James...." she began.
"Yes ma'am?" James replied. "James when the children first told me what happened I must tell you I thought they had gone kinda crazy–that they'd seen something that was just so darn terrible that they had to make up something to explain it." she said.
"I know it sounds out of this world Mrs. Cartwright, but it's true. Father told us that story for years--and you know he was always on to us about mud puddles so much that we did what he told us just to get him to shut up about it. I don't think any of us ever really believed it, but we did it you know and nothing ever happened. It got to be like a good luck, bad luck thing you understand like not walking under a ladder or throwing salt over your shoulder. We never believed it, but we did it you know to humor daddy. Now I guess we will always watch our step when it rains. I suppose you folks will to now." James concluded. "You know we will." mother said demonstrating the horror she felt at what had happened to Willie Mixon.
And that was it from then on. There was nothing else mentioned about it save but for nosy journalists coming around. We even had some crusading leftist writer come around accusing my family of being associated with white supremacist and that we likely murdered poor Mr. Mixon.
But when the Mixon family refused to cooperate all these endeavors came to naught. They knew what my sister and I told them was the truth. It was a truth that is the most terrifying thing I have ever experienced in my long life. I have been to war, but I can not imagine an end so distressing or wondrous. Here now is the tale of Willie Mixon's untimely disappearance.

It was Wednesday afternoon. July 22 in fact. The day started out bright and sunny and very hot. But just before noon the sky turned ominous and cloudy. The dark clouds that had so eerily snuck up on us prompted our mother to tell my sister and I to come inside for she was certain those fearful clouds were full of electricity and just might strike one of us if we stayed in the yard to long.
Our daddy and older brothers were off helping David Locklear and his family putting in tobacco. On the morrow they would be working on Mr. Mixon's farm. Come Friday they would all be on our farm putting in our crop. This is how it went during the tobacco season. Each family worked for the other assisting with the effort taking a minimal payment for their work. A young man could make $9.00 a day cropping tobacco and a drag driver $6.00. The scale became increasingly smaller depending on the job.
I being ten only qualified as a drag driver, which consisted of driving a mule which would be hitched to the single-tree of a sliding container that was designated as a drag. It was actually a frame of wood that was attached to a sled and was enclosed in burlap to prevent the leaves of tobacco from falling from the drag. The Locklear's had no need for a drag driver having three sons for such duties so I was made to stay home and entertain my little sister.
We spent most of the morning playing various chasing games, catch and other such childish inventions. We were soon very tired, however and when the weather turned bringing a gentle breeze we welcomed it. We stood there in the front yard awed by the encroaching black clouds. It was terrifying and inspiring all at once.
And soon the sound of thunder could be heard. At that time my mother came on the porch. "This looks like a bad storm--you younguns go on inside." She told us. "But mama--it feels good out here." I said. "Don't matter--I won't have you children out here with it lightn’." She said.

And so we went inside. We stood at the open door as the clouds continued to gather. We could see the flash of lightning ever so often and the sound of thunder in its wake. And pretty soon the rain began. It came down with great force sounding on the tin roof of the house relaxing us. If it had gone on much longer I don't doubt it would have sent me to my room to sleep. The sound of it is mesmerizing and will relax one without their even knowing so.
But just as soon as the storm manifested itself it disappeared. And soon the sky was bright once more receiving the full force of the swirling sun that now coursed across a sky beset now by large fluffy white cumulus clouds. A rainbow could be seen in one part of the horizon and the sky seemed even bluer now. The rain though having taken up very little of the day's time did leave its remnants in abundance in some places.
It had been a brief but plentiful shower. There seemed to be puddles all along the dirt road that led from our house to Highway 211. The dark clouds that had come and left so quickly had left so much of its cargo on the highway that you could see it spiraling out from under the cars that once more came racing down the highway as well hearing it falling to the pavement with a sound that would remind one of a waterfall.
Mother allowed me and Ellie to exit the house to once more engage in play. We raced about the yard yelling with delight crying out our intentions as we carried on. And soon we saw the image of Willie Mixon, our neighbor, come walking down the dirt road headed for our house.

It was not unusual to see Mr. Mixon coming our way. His family and our family often went to each other's farm cooperating with each other whenever such was necessary. Mr. Mixon was quite old, but none of us ever knew his exact age nor did we ask. Daddy often told us that if Mr. Mixon wanted us to know how old he was he would no doubt tell us. And so none of us never inquired after him as to his age and he never volunteered it. But one could tell he was very old. He was a black man, but his hair was as white as the cotton that he and we grew on our farms every year. I've always heard that when a black man's hair turns white he is surely very old. Perhaps that is a ridiculous assertion and the musing of a racist mind, but it has always seemed so to me. Maybe I'm just a fool.
I noticed something odd about him as he came down that rutted dirt road that was plagued by mud puddles. Whenever he came upon a puddle he took great pains to get around it avoiding coming in contact with the water in the puddle as much as possible.
My mother stood on the porch watching us as we dashed around the yard. She noticed us running through some of the mud puddles. "You children stop running through them puddles. You'll get ground itch running through that nasty water." She said shading her eyes from the bright sun as she spotted Mr. Mixon coming down the road. "Children behave--get over here on the porch. Mr. Mixon is coming. I want you children to behave yourself while he's here you understand?" She said to us.
My sister and I came close to the porch. We calmed ourselves somewhat. My parents took great pride that their children conducted themselves with great deference to older folks regardless who they were white or black. When Mr. Mixon arrived we were expected to treat him with the respect old age demanded. And soon the elderly black man came into the yard. "Hello Mr. Mixon--how you doing today?" Mama asked him. "Well now I didn't expect we'd get us a shower today with the way that sun's been beating down on us. But you can't never be sure this time of the year." He said removing the green felt fedora hat he always wore. He removed a handkerchief from the rear pocket of his overalls and whipped the inside of the hat. He now put it to his forehead and tapped at the sweat that caused his face to shine with the sheen of it. "I must say it was a surprise Mr. Mixon." Mama said. "Yes ma'am it was. I'm sorry to bother you Lucille, but I wonder if I might borrow some tobacco twine from you folks. We ain't got nearly enough for tomorrow. If you could let me have a couple of bundles I will pay you for them or I'll just get Ray some when I go to the hardware store." He told her. "Why sure you can Mr. Mixon. Ray's got more than enough. He always gets more than he needs when he goes to town." Mama told the black man. And now mama looked at me and my sister. "Listen children I'm going to walk down to the tobacco barn and get Mr. Mixon some twine. While I'm gone I want you two to behave yourself and mind Mr. Mixon." She said with a very paternal smile. "Yes ma'am." We said.

And so mama dismounted the porch and moved off around the house down to the tobacco barn that stood perhaps several hundred yards away tucked beneath some large chestnut trees.
When she left Mr. Mixon smiled at us. He seemed to be uncomfortable in the presence of children so young. We stood there momentarily trying to maintain a degree of silence, however before long our youthful energy demanded we set into moving around to expend it. And as we did so several times we raced through some of the mud puddles.
We moved around the yard several minutes doing this the water splashing up and going all about as we did so. After awhile Mr. Mixon stood up and strangely moved between my sister and myself. He held up his arms and waved them about as if he was disturbed by something. "Children--children--children please--please stop that!" He said with a tone that one could only determine as harsh.
We were startled by his interruption and I must say we did not expect such a reaction from a colored man. Although we were children Ellie and I were both well aware of the nature of things and how society worked. "Why do you say that Mr. Mixon?" Ellie asked him startled by his demand.

He grew very quiet and looked about as if involved in some kind of conspiracy. And then he looked at the two of us. He tilted his head as if he was about to relate a secret to us. "Come here children." He said waving us toward him over at the porch. Reluctantly we went there staring at him intently not really sure what he was going to do. When we got close he directed us to sit on the porch. He leaned in and began to speak to us very softly. "Listen children you mustn't ever run through puddles again. You should never go into a puddle if you can help it." He said and once more he looked about. "Why not Mr. Mixon--it's fun running through mud puddles--at least some times?" I argued. And now Mr. Mixon leaned in even closer. He had a very somber look on his face. He then held up a finger as if about to shush us. "'Cos children they's monsters down in them puddles--least sometimes they is!" He said with some excitement. "What do you mean?" Ellie asked him growing excited herself. "I ain't never seen no monsters in any puddles." She said and then turned to me with a look as if she was pleading that I would say such a thing isn't true. "Have you Melvin?" She now asked me. I shook my head and then looked at Mr. Mixon. "What are you talking about Mr. Mixon?" I asked him. "Believe me boy they're in there. You may have never seen one, but believe me they're there." And now he gathered us even closer to him. "Listen to me children. I'm going to tell you a story now afore your mama gets back." He said.
"What kind of story?" I asked. "A true story." He said now. And then he told us.

He told us about when he was a little boy himself. It seems him and his brother Albert was working for this white man whose name was Chandler. he had them picking weeds out of his tobacco bed plants. They did this each Monday morning under the supervision of this white boy who was a teenager and the son of Mr. Chandler.
Well it turns out this white boy whose name was Benjamin was a pretty rough customer and every day they showed up at Mr. Chandler's Benjamin would torture them to no end with his bullying ways. He thought he could do them any way he wanted seeing how they were just colored boys.
The last day they worked for him it seems it rained. Mr. Mixon and his brother Albert were eager to get the job done that day before another storm came up preventing them from doing the required work. If they didn't finish the job they would not get paid. They also did not like working with the Chandler boy and were eager to be free of his presence. And so on that day Willie and Albert ran way ahead of Benjamin down the road that led to the tobacco bed.
And soon they came upon a huge mud puddle that would rival any they had seen of late. It stretched nearly the whole way across the dirt road that led down to the tobacco bed. "Me and Albert were startled by it--for some reason we knew there was something wrong, seriously wrong with that mud puddle. We had been running and for some reason we stopped short. We could hear that nasty Chandler boy behind us calling us all kinds of names--but you know that didn't mean nuthin' to us. We just stared at that muddy puddle curious about the feeling it gave us."

His face had gotten so serious and his demeanor so nervous that Ellie and me drew our wholehearted attention to him. "What happened?" We asked. "Well that Chandler boy was yelling at us like crazy--he kept calling us names. Me and Albert we never heard a thing he said to us. We couldn’t." "What'd you do?" Ellie asked then. "Nothing--we wuz froze to that spot. We couldn't move if we wanted to." he said. "And children that Chandler boy came runnin' at us screaming like he was crazy--I'm truly sure he meant to do us harm." Mixon said then. "What'd you do--what'd you do?" We asked. "Honest children--we didn't mean to do it--we really didn't mean it to happen." He said to us now growing even more conspiratorial in his tone. "What'd you do?" I asked. "Well we at last managed to move, and so we did–it looked like he was going to run right into us–like he might push one of us into that mud puddle and cos' that monster to get us. We couldn't let that happen. So we moved–we moved out of his way and he went right into that puddle." "What happened to him?" We asked.
He leaned in even further then. He began to whisper then. "Well now children–God forgive me that monster got him. He ran into that puddle and the next thing we knew that monster got him--that monster pulled him right down into that dirty water." "He did?" We said. "He did--yes he did!" He said and then he removed his handkerchief from his pocket again. He wiped his brow once more.
"I swear children that was the most distressin' thing I've ever seen in my life." Mixon said. "What'd you tell his daddy--ah Mr. Chandler?" I asked. "What could we tell him--we said he wandered off and we didn't have any idea where he went." He told us. "And they never found him?" I asked now. "No sir they sure didn't--that puddle dried up and one time me and Albert went down there and dug up the road. But there was nothing there, nothing whatsoever. That monster got him lock, stock and barrel. I just know it. He screamed once and then he was gone--the darn thing just drug him into that puddle and he was gone. A lot of white people got together and looked all around there, but nuthin' was ever found nuthin'." Mr. Mixon said shaking his head with regret. "Gosh that's some scary story." Ellie said. "It sure is--now do you children understand why I'm tellin' you to never run through mud puddles--don't ever do it again." He said almost pleading. He stood up now having evidently seen our mother approaching from the tobacco barn. She carried two 12 pack bundles of tobacco twine. She held a bundle beneath each arm as she moved up the muddy road that ran on down toward the rear of the house. For a moment she seemed distracted and my sister and I thought she was about to walk straight into a mud puddle that was prominent in the road. "Mama be careful!" We called in unison.
Startled mama came to a halt. "What--don't you children yell like that you almost made me drop these things." She said. But at least she managed to see the puddle of muddy water before her and moved around it.

She came up to Mr. Mixon and handed the two bundles to him. He gathered up the twine in his arms and thanked her profusely.
Mama mounted the steps to the porch and made her way to the screen door. The whole time she and Mr. Mixon exchanged small talk speaking of family and chores that awaited their attention.
"Well Lucille I thank you very much for the twine and be sure and tell Ray I will repay him for this." Mixon said to my mother who had her hand on the screen door about to enter the house.
"You're sure welcome Willie, anytime--and you can tell Ray what you got to tell him tomorrow. Well now be sure and give my best to Lula and your boys." Mama said now and then she went into the house.
Me and Ellie were now on the porch ourselves made wary about the wet yard because of the story Mr. Mixon had told us. Of course if an older more sophisticated person was present they would likely have tried to dissuade me and my sister of the thought that mud puddle monsters existed. They may have said that the Chandler boy probably didn't exist. But I think he did. I'm certain that he did.
And now Mixon looked at me and my sister and he spoke once more in that secret tone. "Remember children never run through those puddles--and should you ever think of doing so check first--look deep in the water. Make sure there ain't no monsters in there that will get you--sometimes you can see 'em if you're on your toes."
We were shaking our heads with every word he was telling us. We didn't doubt a bit of the story not one bit. We were convinced what he was telling us was the truth, the unmitigated truth. And then something happened to convince us once and for all.

As Mr. Mixon was telling us this he was backing up in the yard. He was backing up not the least aware of where he was going. He was not showing the same caution he was directing us to keep among ourselves. "They'll get you children--they'll get you for sure." He was saying to us. And as he did this he backed right into one of them puddles. And when he realized this he looked down with a look of puzzlement interspersed with terror.
There was some rough movement in the dark water below him and suddenly his face was gripped with complete terror. We heard him scream and then suddenly he was torn downward, down into that puddle of muddy water. We saw nothing else or heard anything either. All that remained was his fedora bobbing on top of the water.
We began to scream, we screamed until our mother came racing back onto the porch demanding to know what in the world was afoot.
It was then that we told her. We told her the whole thing almost without catching our breath. We told her about the story he had related to us and his warning about the mud puddles. That sometimes monsters were hiding in them.
I am an old man now. I am an old man who spent the majority of his life from that day onward avoiding the curse of stormy weather. Even while I was in the military and engaging in the worse kind of combat I avoided it. I would not venture out in the monsoons and would avoid the deep water of any river or other body of water that would impede me and my comrades while on patrol. If I could not ford it by raft I would find an alternate route around it. The tale that Mr. Mixon told to us and my witness to his very disappearance was enough for me.

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