Legend of Cotton-Eye Joe Pt. 01

Here's the first part of a new series that's been bouncing around in my head begging to be let out. For those unfamiliar with me, be advised that my work is known to contain graphic descriptions of incestuous sex, strong language, magic, and sometimes violence, although in this part there is only the threat of violence. All characters are 18 or older. And as usual ratings, comments, and constructive criticism are welcome.

Also, a special thank you to lonewolf68alpha who provided an invaluable service in editing this work and making it the best it can be. And now, on with the story!

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Prologue

If it hadn't been for Cotton-Eye Joe

I'd been married long time ago

Where did you come from, where did you go

Where did you come from, Cotton-Eye Joe?

The words may vary, but almost every Southerner is familiar with the folk ballad 'Cotton-Eye Joe,' which has experienced a surge in popularity in recent years due to some recent coverings of the classic tune. However, what most people don't realize is that this piece is based on an actual individual, a conclusion I have come to through meticulous research and investigation. Notice I say individual and not man, for reasons that will soon become clear.

Not much is known about this enigmatic figure, only that he appeared sometime in the mid-1800s and travelled the length and breadth of the South over several decades, playing his banjo and asking anyone who'd speak with him about his 'missing people,' about which he himself could provide only the scantest of details. Despite his rather unkempt and ragged appearance, he was so charming and charismatic most were more than eager to speak with him, from city gentry to backwoods folk. However, none apparently could offer him any help in his search. When asked his name, he merely said something to the effect of "Kotony'jo," which he claims means 'lost' in the language of his people.

Opinions remain divided on his character, with some swearing he's been their savior, a miracle man who's changed their lives and showed them true happiness. Others call him monster, demon, even the devil himself who rose from the pit to tempt hapless victims to forfeit their souls for a life of debauchery and sin. No doubt, many of these accusations stem from the fact that he has been charged with using his charm to great effect on the ladies when the mood strikes him, especially in conjunction with his music, to the chagrin of their would-be suitors.

However, despite this rather wide-spread belief, I have to this date found no woman, whether in reading private accounts or those I speak with in person, who will admit to being seduced by this figure or having any sort of romantic liaison with him. Rather, they insist that this travelling vagabond helped them find true love, not take it for himself. Which is odd in and of itself, since records and personal testimony indicate that they abandoned their lovers, fiancés, and even husbands after encountering this enigmatic figure. When I press for more information from those willing to talk to me in person, they all down to the last one simply smile and end the interview.

But one thing cannot be denied is that wherever he travels, there is usually some disturbance within the community and many lives are changed forever, for good or ill depends on whom one chooses to believe. Such things are not for me to judge, I have recorded all available evidence and testimony I have managed to collect, vague as it may be, in a separate volume and it is up to each individual reader to draw their own conclusions regarding this figure's motivations and character. In any case, his notoriety and infamous exploits caused this figure to be immortalized in the folk ballad "Cotton-Eye Joe," (as his name sounded to the ears of our ancestors), attesting to his unusually brilliant white eyes, his baffling way of disappearing from a place as mysteriously as he appears, as well as his reputed amorous and disruptive nature.

If this was where the story ended, then this would be a fascinating but otherwise unnoteworthy footnote in the annals of Southern folklore. But if you'll notice, I have used the present tense in talking about Cotton-Eye Joe and many of the people whose lives he has touched, for I believe that his story has yet been concluded. But before I am mocked or labeled a madman and driven in disgrace from my post at the university, allow me to explain myself.

Even in the nineteenth century, people remarked in their journals at Joe's apparent youthfulness and how he hadn't seemed to age from when he'd visited their neck of the woods ten or twenty years prior. But then shortly after the turn of the twentieth century, just when such questions were beginning to be asked in earnest, the one known as Cotton-Eye Joe disappeared without a trace. Most people just assumed he had passed away, perhaps shot by some jealous husband, and let the matter rest with him as his story faded from memory and into legend.

Then, some time ago when I'd just started college, I began to hear rumors of a man claiming to be Cotton-Eye Joe had reappeared, this time sticking to small towns, rural outcroppings, and avoiding big cities, still looking for his people, whoever they were. For years I dismissed it as a ploy of struggling communities looking to boost the tourist trade, until someone sent me a photograph of this alleged 'Cotton-Eye Joe,' and I compared it to a picture taken of him in the late 1800s. Not only I, but several experts in a wide range of fields agree that the picture is authentic and that it is almost certainly the same person in both pictures, not an imposter or close relative. Furthermore, the same pattern of disorder left in his wake resumed, a fact I had to practically pry out of reluctant and somewhat befuddled witnesses on condition of anonymity.

And so was launched my own quest to find this mysterious individual and discover his true nature. Is he just an exceptionally adept and suave con artist taking advantage of a folk legend in order to gain a brief moment of fame and attention from the ladies, or is he perhaps something we humans are not yet ready to comprehend? Is he merely a whimsical and somewhat mischievous drifter looking for his place in the world, or are his ultimate aims far more sinister? Answers to these and other questions have thus far eluded me as I have always been two steps behind him, merely documenting the aftermath of his deeds in a place after he has long departed.

But at last, I have a lead that may at last allow me to unravel the truth. A trusted friend and colleague has reported that a person matching the description of Cotton-Eye Joe has been seen wandering the roads near Greendale, a small town in the foothills of western North Carolina. My bags are packed, and tomorrow I depart on a journey that I hope will finally reveal the answers that I have sought for so long.

Excerpt from the private writings of Dr. Arthur Cunningham, Professor of Southern History & Folklore

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Chapter 1

Outskirts of Greendale

Between the tv blaring, the vacuum roaring, and her Bluetooth blasting music in her ears, it was a minor miracle that Savannah Flynn heard the doorbell at all as she did a little cleaning in the den before dinner. The sun had just slipped past the horizon, and night was settling in. And although the air was running, the valiant but aging system was doing little to combat the sweltering heat of the summer evening. "Hold your horses, I'm comin'!" she shouted as she switched off the music and the vacuum, muting the tv and taking the buds out of her ears before heading to the front door. As she was doing so, she heard the air unit outside suddenly sputter and go silent.

Perfect, she thought to herself as she plodded irritably toward the door in her bare feet, remembering the promises of the repairman who'd only been there a few weeks ago, swearing up and down that with the costly repairs he'd done the system would last at least another two or three years. Well so much for that promise, she thought wryly as she reached the door, thankful they had gotten the warranty on it so at least it'd get fixed tomorrow. In the meantime, it was going to be a long and sultry night. "Who is it?" she called out through the wood, idly wondering if she could convince her brother to call his friend at the repair shop and have him come out tonight and get it going. "Will, did you go and lock your keys in your truck again?"

"It's not Will, Miss." an unknown but friendly voice called back. "I'm not from around these parts and I'm a little lost, so I was wonderin' if you'd be so kind as to point me in the right direction."

Savannah frowned. "Why don't you use your phone?" she asked, suspicious.

There was a chuckle. "Oh, I'm afraid I don't have one of those, Miss, me an' all that fancy new technology don't get along too well. Don't worry, I don't mean no harm. Here, I'll even back up and keep my hands in the air," she heard along with the sound of scuffling feet on the floorboards of the porch.

Savannah flicked on the porch light and peered through the peephole. Sure enough, he'd retreated back towards the steps, his hands in clear view. He looked to be a tall, gangly young man in his twenties with wispy, straw-colored hair, clad in old but clean overalls and a yellow button-down shirt underneath. But what stood out most were his eyes - they were the purest, brightest white she'd ever seen, especially when contrasted with the sun-browned skin of his face.

She hesitated, about ready to call her ma when the man flashed her a grin almost as white as his eyes, something about it diffusing her suspicions and dropping her guard. After all, she thought as she unlocked the door and undid the latch, someone with a smile like that can't be bad, and even if they are ma's just upstairs, and our insurance policy is within arm's reach, she thought as she opened the door. "Um, hi," she said, feeling herself blush for some reason under his gaze. "So, where ya trying to get to, Mr...?"

He tipped his head, staying where he was and pressing his hands against the porch posts. "Oh, you can just call me Joe Cotton, Miss, and I'm lookin' for the Reddy Farm and Orchard. I know it's around these parts somewhere, but I seem to have gotten turned around or somethin'. Can you help me out?"

"Oh, sure," Savannah replied, as one of the Reddys' only neighbors it wasn't uncommon for folks to stop by their house and ask directions. "Just keep goin' up the road for about a mile, then turn left at the crossroads and keep going down that road until it turns to gravel, then keep going and eventually you'll arrive at the Reddy farmstead. She glanced toward the driveway, only seeing her ma's and her own vehicle. "You're not planning to walk there, are you?" she asked, bewildered that someone would be out in these parts on foot this time of day. "You'll never get there before dark, and it's not safe wanderin' out on foot after sundown. If you like, maybe I could ask my ma if she wouldn't mind givin' you a lift."

Joe shook his head. "Oh, no, I wouldn't dream of imposing on y'all like that. I'll be fine, don't you worry none 'bout ol' Joe."

Savannah bit her lip, something else bothering her. "If I may ask, what business takes you out to the Reddy place? They've just experienced the worst kind of tragedy and most likely aren't in the mood to receive visitors, 'specially so late at night like this."

Joe smiled wanly. "Oh, I'm well aware of their troubles, and in fact that's the very reason I'm calling. I'd like to offer them my unique services and help see them through this difficult time into something much better, Savannah."

She started, causing her bushy auburn pigtails to bounce. "How'd you know my name? I never told you that."

He grinned, and for a split second she thought she saw a flash of gold in his eyes, but figured it had to be a trick of the light. "The same way I know that your ma, whose name is Harper, is upstairs at this very minute changing the sheets on your bed to that blue floral pattern you like, and your older brother Will has gone to pick up meatloaf dinners at the nearby diner for the three of you, since y'all live alone after your pa ran off with his secretary back when you was just a little girl. In fact, I even already knew the way to the Reddy homestead, but I was passing by and needed some excuse to stop in. After all, I couldn't very well open up by sayin' there's a cloud of frustration and repression hanging 'round this house that I may be able to help with, now could I? Why, that'd just be downright weird, wouldn't it?"

But Savannah had stopped listening. "Ma?!" she shouted urgently, taking a step back into the house and grabbing their insurance policy, a loaded shotgun leaning against the wall, cocking and pointing it at the stranger. Joe didn't move an inch or show any trace fear as he stared down the long barrels. He just continued to stand there casually like he was an old friend over for a visit, wearing that odd grin that didn't seem so appealing anymore.

"You'd best be off now before ma gets down here, because unlike me she'll have no hesitation about using this. And since you know so dang much about us, you should also be aware that my brother carries a side arm, and he'll be back any minute. By the way, I'll be phonin' the Reddys and letting them know they've got a weirdo on the way, so if I were you I'd just clear straight out of these parts. Unless you want your head blasted off from three different directions, that is."

Joe sighed and shook his head. "So much unnecessary gloom and doubt just because people can't talk straight with each other. Alright," he said resignedly, raising his hands. "I don't want to cause no distress to you or your family, just tryin' to help is all. If you want me gone, I'll leave quietly. But first, I'd like you to tell me who you see when you look at me."

Savannah glanced up the stairs, getting more unsettled by the second by this odd man's ramblings. It'd never taking her mom so long to respond when she used this tone, and the lack of any sort of sound from upstairs was troublesome. "Ma, where are you?"

"I don't think she's gonna answer you right now."

She whipped her head back towards the stranger, his voice sounding different, familiar. Then the blood drained from her face, and her jaw dropped as if it had become lead. For the stranger was gone, and in his place stood her brother, dressed and looking as he had before leaving for the diner, carrying a bag of carryout, the smell of hot meatloaf reaching her nostrils. "Will?" she asked.

Her sibling nodded knowingly, looking over himself. "Ah, so it is the brother," he muttered with a touch of triumph, rubbing his chin as he talked more to himself than her.

But Savannah paid no heed to her brother's strange behavior, his sudden presence making her feel safe and secure, like being wrapped in warm blanket as it always had. She lowered the shotgun and took a step forward, the tension flowing out of her as she sighed in relief, wanting to hug him but something holding her back. "Thank goodness you're here," she said, putting her hand over her heart. "There was this nutcase who called himself Joe, here saying all kinds of strange things, and he seemed to know all about us. We should get inside; he might still be around somewhere."

Her brother smiled and shook his head. "Naw, he's gone and won't be back, so don't fret none about it," he said in that strong, assuring tone that she adored. "You know your brother wouldn't lie to you, right?" he asked, his eyes flashing gold.

The last coherent thought she had was that her brother's eyes had never done that in all the years she'd known him, before something fuzzy settled over her mind and a warm languorous feeling flowed through her body. It was sorta like the way she felt after a few too many of the drinks she wasn't supposed to be having at her age, except this felt much better than that, making her tingle in her special and secret places. "Of course I know that," she said, leaning her head against the door jamb, smiling fondly at her brother. "It's one of the many reasons I love you, Will, because you're always straight with me."

"And when you say you love me," her brother pressed, you don't just mean the way you people expect a sister to love her sibling. You mean something more, much more, don't you?"

Some small part of Savannah was screaming at her to stay silent, that the secret she'd harbored for so long was one that should stay hidden forever, but it was being drowned out by this incredible feeling of freedom and openness coursing through her brain and body, washing away her inhibitions and doubts, loosening her tongue to give voice to what she'd been bottling up inside for too long. "Yes," she said simply, and soon everything else that she'd trapped inside came spilling out.

"Ever since I was a kid I've looked up to you, Will, 'specially after pa left," she began, eyes shining. "Then when I was older I started having fantasies about you, being with you in every way a woman can be with a man. I can't count the number of times I've pleasured myself thinking about us together intimately, our bodies joined into one. I thought it would pass, but it's only gotten stronger over the years and I've come to realize that it's more than just a crush or fantasy. I love you, brother, and you're the man I want to be with forever."

He nodded solemnly. "I thought so. Savannah, I forgot something at the diner so I'm going to run back for it real quick. In the meantime, why don't you go in the house and take a nap on the couch until I return." He thought for a moment. "Better yet, is there any particular outfit you have that when you wear it, I've taken a bit more notice of you and all your many good points?"

Savannah smiled knowingly. "Yes, several in fact."

"Good. Instead of nappin', when you go back in put one of them on, and maybe some perfume and whatever else you think appropriate to make yourself perfect for me. After I get back and we're gonna have dinner, and you're going to talk about all the good times we've had over the years. Then you're going to sit down on the couch with me and repeat everything you just confessed to me word for word, and you're not gonna feel a shred o' shame doing it. And I think you'll find that he, I mean I, have been thinking the same thing about you, but too scared and pigheaded to admit it. Then we'll decide where we'll go from there.

"Oh, yeah, and don't worry about ma," he added. "She's sleepin' soundly upstairs and won't hear a thing until she wakes up tomorrow morning, so you and I will have plenty of uninterrupted time to talk and...whatever else we choose to do," he said, wagging his eyebrows. "And if we do pursue things, it's entirely possible we'll find ma quite open to the idea, more so in fact for reasons you're already aware of. Now go on back inside before you let all the air out," he said with a flick of his hand.

Savannah smiled dreamily and turned around, heading back into the house and closing the door without another word. Joe stretched his lanky limbs before turning and heading down the porch steps to a large magnolia tree in the middle of the yard, beside which sat a worn and weathered leather satchel, a banjo propped against it. He leaned himself against the trunk, taking the canteen hanging at his waist and after unstoppering it, took a swig of the strong-smelling moonshine inside. He closed his eyes, enjoying the warm evening air of summer and the rich, sweet aroma of the tree's blooms, and waited.