When I first moved to Allen in 1963 the news was there were “Haints” in the area. Yes, they were spotted around “Seed Tick Cemetery” and all around the South Canadian. Yes, Big Foot was alive and well in the Allen area. Some say that Big Foot sightings were a fact, that these creatures were what remained of a rare species of large “Indian Type” cave men. Or just some other form of “Big Foot.” Another word for these creatures is “Haint.”

I don’t know what a “haint” is but I first became aware of this word when I was in high school over at Stonewall. There was a very special place between Jesse and Fittstown where a beautiful cool energetic little stream worked its way through a section of very rough terrain. Some people called it Sheep Creek, even though there were other streams in the general area with the same name. The part with which I was familiar was located on the Bar X ranch. The foreman out there was an old cowboy named Gann.

So, it was one pleasant day a small trio of boys which included me, Jackie Eden and one Jim Greenlee found ourselves lounging, diving in and enjoying this cool blue pool of water in what was called “The Haint Hole.” I wondered why the name and Jim Greenlee, a little older than Jackie or me, said he knew. “Every night at midnight, when the moon was out, a headless Indian Chief rides his white (flying) horse out of the top of the nearby Buzzards Peak, makes a few passes around the little cone-shaped mountain and then rides, horse and all, into this hole of water — The Haint Hole.” Jim went on to explain that although he had never witnessed this himself, he was prepared to do just that. See it! He also explained the beautiful clear-blue natural pool had no bottom.

We decided to take action. We “borrowed” a long piece of new rope, over 100 feet. Plus a window weight. I had my Kodak 620 camera loaded with black and white film and on our selected night with a full moon we took up station at the Haint Hole. We camped and made our snacks and fixed our camp and beds. We climbed the Buzzard’s Roost and I took pictures of the place. We swam and ate and waited forever in the lingering twilight for midnight. Oh yes, we checked the depth and found it to be 90 feet deep. It had a bottom! Jim was wrong on that.

Waiting on our headless Indian and midnight took us to the verge of a nervous hissy as we checked our Timex watches with Jim’s genuine army flashlight. We did an audible countdown as the magic time was reached. So far, so good. Except our headless Indian never showed. Him or his horse.

We moped, stood around but finally tried to sleep a little. No dice. We finally got up and went back to Stonewall, returned the borrowed rope and strange as it may seem, didn’t talk all that much about it. Didn’t have any reason to develop my roll of black and white film. That was my last summer adventure before the government mailed me a postcard announcing that I was 1-A. I sure couldn’t claim I was too important to my community to be exempt. So, my next big adventure was with your US Navy.

As far as I know our “haint” never did come out of hiding atop Buzzard’s Roost, never rode his horse into the pool. At least I don’t think he did. And I’ve never been back to the “Haint Hole.”

Have a good week and be sure and go to your church Sunday. Stay clear of the Haint Hole.

Wayne Bullard, DPh

cwaynebullard@gmail.com