My Uncle and His Boyfriend in the Kentucky Hills

Eastern Kentucky, Summer 1973

It's the summer after seventh grade.  We're visiting my Uncle El, the only one of Mom's family to stay behind when the rest of them moved to Indiana.  Dinner is over, and we're telling stories of long-ago times, before I was born, when Mom was a little girl.   Sometimes the adults laugh at jokes I don't understand.

Uncle El's wife tells about the time she rode her bicycle all the way into Salversville to see a boy, but when she got there he was spooning with someone else.  (she obviously did not mean "sleeping front-to-back."  It was probably something like "making out.")

An elderly lady I don't know tells a story about witches.

Now it's Uncle El's turn.

"I'm going to tell about my brother, Manus, and his friend Graydon, two boys with the same soul."

I've been dozing off, but now I perk up -- sounds like this will be interesting!



Eastern Kentucky, Fall 1939

Manus and Graydon, the boy from down the holler, were born at the same moment, and some said they shared the same soul.

Oh, on the outside, they was as different as night and day:

Graydon was tall and dark, with thick arms and a tight chest, fond of wrasslin' and huntin' and fishin'.

Manus was short and slim and pale-skinned, a moody boy, always readin', but a good singer, with a clear tenor voice.

They was different down below, too.  You don't have much privacy in the hills, when you sleep three to a bed, and I saw them many times jumping nekkid into the creek, or lying on the soft grass.

Lordy, did that Graydon have a whopper!

"Eliot!  There are children present!"  the elderly lady snaps.

"Why, Marcy, surely they know that boys have something down there!"

Yet for all of their differences, Manus and Graydon were never separated, from sunup to sundown, when their parents forced them into different cabins for dinner.  Even then, they sometimes sneaked out to have secret adventures in the darkness.

Life was hard in the hills during the Depression.  Eight people in a four room cabin.

Kerosene lamps for light, a wood-burning stove for heat, and the woods outside for an outhouse.

They raised chickens and grew corn, beans, taters, and maters.  For everything else, they depended on Dad's job at a factory in Hueysville, eight miles away.

Still, they had fun. There were church socials and square dances.  In the evenings the neighbors came around to tell ghost stories and sing songs.  There'd be no dry eye in the house when Manus  sang "Barbara Allen."

Oh mother, mother, make my bed,
Make it long and make it narrow.
Sweet William died for me today,
I'll die for him tomorrow.

"I always hated that song," Mom says.  

In the summer of 1939, Graydon bought and fixed up an old clunker car.  Now they could drive all the way to Salyersville, 20 miles down the pike, to get malteds and go to the movies.

They liked Little Tough Guy, with the Dead End Kids, and Out West with the Hardys, with Mickey Rooney.

In late October of 1939, Graydon and Manus took ill, maybe from going swimming nekkid in the cold Brushy Fork Creek.  

They gave them herb medicine and mustard plasters and poltices, and Manus got better, but Graydon got sicker and sicker, and he died on November 5th, the day of the first snowfall.

His dad and older brother built a pine box to put him in, and they buried him in the graveyard up atop  the hill.

Well, needless to say, Manus was inconsolable.

He cried and cried, and after he stopped crying he wouldn't eat, he wouldn't sleep, he just sat on the bed in the room he shared with me and Edd, staring out the window, up at the hill where Graydon was buried.

Then one night he yelled to the family, "Hey, there's a light up on the hill!"

It was a swaying yellow light, like from a kerosene lamp.  But who would be up there in the middle of the night?  It was pitch dark, with just a narrow trail through the brush and trees.  

"I'm going up!"  Manus yelled, pulling on his coat.


But Mom and Dad forbade him.  It was too dangerous. He could wait until morning to investigate.

"No, I gotta go now!  I gotta!"  He tried to push past them out the door.  Dad grabbed him by the arms.  He fought.

There was no help for it: they had to lock Manus up in the room, where me and Edd could look over him.

Well, Manus paced and rumbled, and yelled, and cried, and finally sat down in a chair, still staring up at the light on the hill.  Finally Edd and me fell asleep.

The next morning, when we woke up, Manus was gone!

The door was still locked from the outside.  The window hadn't been touched.  There was no way Manus could have gotten out!

Some say one of his sisters let him out, and he went dashing up the hill and fell in a ditch, and got eaten by a bear.

El glances pointedly at my mother.  But she was only two years old at the time.

Some say a neighbor sneaked him out, and drove him to Salyersville, where he bought a bus ticket Out West, like the Hardys.

Some say Graydon came for him.

Whatever happened, no one ever saw Manus again.

But that night, up on the hill, we saw two glowing lights.

See also: My Kentucky Kinfolk; The Naked Man at the Crossroads; Erotic Story about Me and My Grandpa #1

Hiram and Ethan Escape from the Fair Folk

Preston's Station, Kentucky,  July 1800

In 1800 Kentucky was still called the Dark and Bloody Land, wild and lawless.  The state was only 8 years old; Hiram's town of Preston's Station (now Prestonsburg), only 3.  You never went into the woods at night, not because of any ghosts or will-o-the-wisps, but because of the highwaymen and renegades and savage Shawnee who might be prowling about.

But here was 16-year old Hiram (model is over 18), trudging down a road that was little more than a deer path, in the moonlight of the witching hour, tired, hungry.  And lost.

With worse waiting when he got home.

His father, 60-year old Aulse Hicks, was the preacher and schoolmaster of Preston's Station.   Well respected, a scholar -- he spoke five languages, and he had published a book proving that the Indians were descended from the lost Ten Tribes of Israel.  But he was strict, demanding, and unforgiving. He expected the son of his old age to spend his time at Greek and Hebrew lessons, and reject worldly temptations like dancing,  ninepins, and games of cards, to prefer -- or pretend to prefer -- the company of God's word to the layabouts down at the tavern

Yesterday Aulse sent Hiram to pray with two brothers from Virginia who had a homestead about five miles from town. He expected to be back before dark, but company was a rare thing in the hills, so they asked Hiram to stay for dinner, and then they sat up, gossipping  and singing and playing games. Before he knew it, the sun was down, and it was dusky twilight.

Five miles in the dark, on a road that was little more than a deer trail?  But there was no help for it, so Hiram set out.

Somehow he got lost --he should have been home in an hour, but the moon was high, the jackdaws were crying, and there was still no sign of the Preston's Station.

He decided to turn back and spend the night with the two brothers after all.  But he couldn't find the homestead again, and now it was the wee hours of the morning, and he was so tired and hungry that he thought he might faint.

Suddenly he saw a light -- not on the main trail, off through the woods.   He approached cautiously, worried that it might be a robber camp.  But it was a house, much bigger and grander than any he had seen in Kentucky.  Could he have walked all the way to Lexington?   (not likely -- Lexington is over 100 miles from Prestonsburg).

Lights and music -- a party going on! Where there was a party, there was food, and a fire.  So Hiram approached the house, and for a reason he couldn't explain later, he slipped in without knocking and made his way to a huge parlor all done up in Christmas red and green.

He couned about thirty people, men and women, all ages. Most were normal sized, but a few were so tall that they had to bow to avoid the chandeliers, and a few were so short that they could bump their heads into other guests' stomachs , Some had pale skin, others the deep purple of night, and still others bright red, like embers.  Even more surprising, some were naked.

They have queer customs in Lexington! he thought.

An elegantly dressed woman  (normal sized, ember-red skin),   approached.  "Why, Hiram Hicks, as I live and breathe! Welcome,welcome!" Before he could be surprised that someone in  Lexington knew him, she grabbed his arm and led him to one of the very tall folk, a leering, bug-eyed man.  "This is old Aulse the Preacher's boy."

"A Preacher's boy!" he exclaimed.  "How delicious!"

Hiram managed a bow. "Do you know Father?"

"Oh, delicately!"

"But you must be famished after your long walk," the ember-red woman said. "Come this way."

She led him to another room: empty except for a table was heavy-laden with every delicacy Hiram could ever imagine:  corn fritters, onion pie, leek pie, broccoli, asparagus, apple ginger, blueberry pie,  lemon cake, alma pudding, even orange marmalade.  But no meat.

He wondered why no one else was eating.  Perhaps it was not yet the dinner hour?

"You sit down to dinner very late in Lexington," Hiram murmured.

"Oh, we'll be eating and drinking through tomorrow,and the day after that," the ember-red lady said."Well, I'll leave you to it."

She wandered off into the main parlor. Hiram found a plate and a wooden fork, and began dishing out...then someone grabbed his arm.

 He turned to see the most beautiful boy in the world: about his age, normal height, dark brown hair, pale hairless skin, hard like a picture of David in one of his father's books.  And naked! .

"Don't eat anything," he said.  "That's how they trap you. Once you eat their food, you will be   theirs forever, forced to obey their every command."

Hiram dropped his plate in shock. It shattered onto the floor. A naked woman quickly appeared with a broom and dustpan to clean the mess.

The most beautiful boy in the world still had his hand on Hiram's arm, as if he was afraid that he would flee.  "My name is Ethan," he said.  "Or it was, once. Now I am no one at all."

"How long have you been here?"

"I don't know -- I lost count of the days and nights long ago.  Maybe years." He leaned close as if to kiss Hiram, and whispered.  "In all those years I've felt neither hunger nor thirst, nor have I slept, nor have I known a moment's peace.   I live only for their pleasure.  Go now, before you are trapped, too."

"As a Christian, I cannot leave without you,"  Hiram said.  "There must be a way for both of us to escape  this foul place."

Ethan thought for a moment.   "They keep us naked. Perhaps it is not to degrade us, but needful for the glamour of the house.  If  I were dressed...but you cannot clothe me.  You have only what you are wearing."

"Perhaps my shirt will be enough."

Hiram tore off his shirt and gave it to Ethan, and they made their way through the parlor. The odd folk ignored Ethan, but they constantly grabbed at Hiram's bare arm and chest, murmuring "But the night is young!"; "You haven't yet eaten!"; "You're just in time for a game of quist!"; and  It's so late -- you must stay the night."

They crossed the threshhold and ran to the trail, afraid to look back. No one followed. And in a few moments, they saw the steeple of the Preston's Station church in the distance.

They agreed to tell no one about the mysterious house. Instead they made up a story:  Ethan was traveling from Virginia with his parents, when they were beset-upon by Indians, who killed his parents, stripped him naked, and held him captive for ten days, torturing him as they pleased.  Eventually he managed to escape.   He was wandering through the woods, delirious with pain and grief, when Hiram found him.

Ethan stayed with Preacher Aulse, and eventually became a preacher himself.  He and Hiram lived together happily for many years, and never told anyone about the mysterious house.

I heard this story from Uncle El during our visit to Kentucky, but added the nudity to make it more interesting.   He said he heard it from his grandfather, who heard it from his grandfather, Hiram Hicks.

There's a real  Hiram Hicks in my ancestry:  son of Aulse "Preacher" Hicks, born in Russell County,Virginia in 1783, moved to Prestonburg, Kentucky (then called Preston's Station) about 1797, died there in 1840.   There is no Ethan living with him in the 1830 census.