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The W.Va. Monster That Crept Into International Pop Culture

West Virginia folklore includes many alien and monster-like characters, such as Mothman, Big Foot and the Yeti. One such monster has made a big resurgence in the past few years, becoming a part of the state’s pop culture.

This story is part of a Halloween episode of Inside Appalachia, which features ghost tales and legends from across Appalachia.

The story of the Flatwoods Monster began September 12, 1952, in the small town of Flatwoods, West Virginia. It was 7 o’clock at night, and some schoolboys were playing football. They saw an object falling from the sky that looked to be on fire, said Andrew Smith, executive director of the Braxton County Visitors Center and founder of Flatwoods Monster Museum.

“Something, something bright, maybe a fireball, appeared to fly overhead and land on a nearby hilltop,” he said.

A copy of the original drawing of the Flatwoods Monster. An illustrator was hired to interpret what the mom and children described they saw September 12, 1952.

The boys and two adults hiked up the hill to check out this “fireball.” Apparently, there was an overwhelming rotten-egg smell in the air that burned their eyes.

“They see movement from their left coming from the woods,” Andrew said.

They shined a flashlight and saw a 10-foot tall monster hovering above the ground, spewing smoke and gas. Its head was red, and spade-shaped, with a distinct point at the top. It had glowing eyes, with spindly arms and claws. Its body was covered in what looked to be green armor.

“Even though it was floating quietly, it was emitting a shrieking sound,” Andrew said.

The group ran home and reported the incident to the police. Other than a lingering smell, there was not much evidence left behind.

That is the basic origin story of the Flatwoods Monster. It was 67 years ago, but the legend lives on.

The telling of the story has varied over the years. For example, some people think there was a government conspiracy involved. Other versions mention a dog that died from the gas that poured out of the monster. Even more, the actual look of the monster is constantly changing.

The Flatwoods Monster Museum has become an epicenter of all the different interpretations of the monster. It is in an old pharmacy building, in the small downtown of Sutton, West Virginia. The storefront windows advertise the museum in different languages, for that international appeal.

Andrew Smith is the executive director of the Braxton County Visitor’s Center. He founded the museum too, although he says originally the Flatwoods Monster collection could fit on one small shelf.

It was originally supposed to just be the Braxton County Visitor Center, but what started as one, small shelf of Flatwoods Monster paraphernalia turned into an entire museum.

“I would say easily, over 95 percent of our traffic is because we’re a Flatwoods Monster Museum, not because we’re a visitor’s center,” Andrew said.

A menacing interpretation of the monster on a T-shirt. Some of the monster have a friendlier look than others.

The museum is one large room. At the entrance, people are greeted by a life-sized Flatwoods Monster costume. The walls are lined with tall shelves displaying many interpretations of the monster, like drawings, figurines, lanterns, stickers, T-shirts and video games. Some look cute and inviting, while others have evil eyes and bulging muscles.

At the back of the room is another life-sized Flatwoods Monster, made from a green graduation gown, PVC pipe and a red, circular pizza pan. Another one sits on top of a shelf – it is just the head of the monster. Its menacing eyes peer down at guests. It has a bony, dark red face, hollowed out cheekbones and a grim reaper-like cloak.

“I have no idea where that came from,” Andrew said, accompanied with a nervous laugh.

Three different handmade interpretations of the monster in the museum. The one on the far left is made out of a graduation gown, PVC pipe and a red pizza pan.

He said that a lot of the collection has been donated by artists and collectors. The museum has also become a hub for all things spooky in West Virginia. It is a place for people to swap not just Flatwoods Monster knowledge, but ghost stories and UFO sightings.

Colby White, a Morgantown-based musician, has some merchandise from his band on display. Captain Catfeesh is a punk band with an Appalachian-folk music flare. A lot of their tunes are based on regional folklore, such as Bigfoot, the Yeti and of course, the Flatwoods Monster.

One of the Flatwoods Monster inspired songs is called ‘The Phantom of Flatwoods.’ It is a traditional West Virginian folk song written at the time of the sighting by a local named Don Lamb; however, Colby arranged the music to it.

A verse from the song reads, “Oh Phantom of Flatwoods from moon or from Mars, maybe from God, not from the stars. Please tell us why you fly over our trees – the end of the world or an omen of peace?”

phantomsong_mp3.mp3

Listen to the song here.

Colby has a tattoo of the monster on his forearm. Most people interpret the tale as scary or evil, but he sees it differently. He thinks the Flatwoods Monster was just taking in its surroundings, when a group of kids and their mom approached from behind.

Colby White’s Flatwood Monster tattoo. It is actually a tattoo of a lamp made to look like the monster – which can be found in the museum.

“Here comes a bunch of kids, a woman shining a flashlight in this dude’s eyes or this creature’s eyes,” Colby says. “Next thing he knows he’s getting blinded and freaks out and starts vibrating and basically throws up some weird oil on them. So, I think they startled him. That’s my theory, I think they startled the Flatwoods Monster.”

The monster surprisingly has a Japanese following that Andrew thinks began between the 60s and 80s. The character is featured in some older Japanese video games and was also made into figurines. They have an anime, cartoon look — with bright colors and a large, toothy mouth.

Andrew has used the Flatwoods Monster to try to boost tourism in the area. He even runs online ads in Japanese, which have proven to be fruitful. Andrew said a Japanese woman visited the museum last year after seeing the ad.

“She had seen this drawing her whole life, but she had no idea it was based in America or based in West Virginia. But learning that it was, she did this deep dive into West Virginia,” he said.

A Japanese interpretation of the Flatwoods Monster. Andrew says there is a large Japanese following of the monster.

There are also different names associated with the monster like, the Phantom of Flatwoods, Braxton County Monster and the Flatwoods Green Monster. Andrew said in a board game it is referred to as “Braxxie.”

“Braxxie has been a word for maybe three years and how often I hear people using it is amazing,” he said. “And they use it like it’s old.”

There are even handmade wooden chairs painted to look like the monster. All five were built by a local carpenter and are placed throughout Braxton County. They are 10 feet tall with built-in stairs to reach the seat – they look more like a throne.

Recently, Andrew also launched a social media campaign using the chairs.

“You’re actually preserving the history and memory of the Flatwoods Monster and taking these pictures and putting them on the internet,” Andrew said.

Andrew wearing part of the Flatwoods Monster costume. More than likely, he says if you see someone in the costume it is him.

Andrew said he believes the group saw something that September night in 1952. As to whether it was the Flatwoods Monster, Andrew said he will leave it up to the imagination.

And Colby, the musician, said a part of him would love to spot the monster in the wild, but he also likes the mystery of it all – the unknown. It gives him something to believe in.

This story is part of an upcoming Halloween episode of Inside Appalachia, which features ghost tales and legends across Appalachia.

This story is part of the Inside Appalachia Folkways Reporting Project. Subscribe to the podcast to hear more stories of Appalachian folklife, arts, and culture.

Possum In Kentucky Artist's Mural Reveals Complicated Connection To Marsupial's Symbolism

Scavenger. Trash animal. Chicken killer. Hero. People here in Appalachia have lots of feelings when it comes oppossums — or “possums” as some people call them. A town in Harlan County, Kentucky found this out first-hand when they decided to feature a possum on a mural in their downtown.

It was a clear, sunny day in May and Lacy Hale was putting the finishing touches on a mural destined for a brick wall in downtown Harlan, Kentucky.

Panels of mural fabric sprawled across the floor of Lacy’s workspace. She walked barefoot, bent over, creating sweeping brushstrokes of vibrant greens and deep purples.

Lacy Hale puts the finishing touches on the mural in her workspace in Whitesburg, Kentucky before it is installed in Harlan, Kentucky.

“You know, possums are everywhere. You see them all the time when you’re driving around,” Lacy explained. “They kill ticks, they kill snakes. They’re North America’s only marsupial. So I thought they were super cool animals.”

Lacy worked with high school students and other community partners on the project, which was spearheaded by Southeast Kentucky Community & Technical College’s Appalachian Program. Robert Gipe, a staff member of the Appalachian Program, explained that they sought community input on the mural design. “We did a long community engagement process for several months, and we had people giving us ideas for murals all over the county,” Robert said.

Community partners Carrie Billett (left) and April Collins (right) install the mural on the side of Sassy Trash, a retail shop owned by April and her husband Paul Collins in Harlan, Kentucky.

Based on that input, they chose local plants and animals as the mural’s theme. They decided to feature pokeweed as a nod to Harlan’s annual Poke Sallet Festival, which celebrates a dish made from the plant’s leafy greens.

Lacy researched pokeweed and found that it relies on certain animals to spread its seeds.

“One of the biggest proponents of that was the possum, when I was reading about it,” Lacy said. Possums are one of the only mammals that can tolerate the berries’ toxins.

In the mural, a baby possum hangs by its tail from the pokeweed’s purple stem.

‘There Were Just a Lot of Feelings’

This isn’t the first time that possums have been favorably featured in eastern Kentucky’s music and art. For example, WMMT-FM, out of Whitesburg, is fondly nicknamed “Possum Radio.” But not everybody feels so warmly toward these creatures.

A painting of a possum hovers above the on-air studio at WMMT-FM in Whitesburg, Kentucky, which is nicknamed “Possum Radio.”

When Knott County, Kentucky, named the possum their official animal in 1986, some took offense. In a letter to the editor of the local paper, one reader wrote:

“My personal opinion is that an opossum is a very low and unintelligent animal. A scavenger is a better word. This action insults the intelligence of our county and Appalachian area, which we should all love.”

When Robert showed a draft of the mural to college students in his Appalachian Studies class, the possum caused a bit of a stir.

“They felt that this possum would be perceived as a representation of our community and of them. And that they had had negative associations with possums due to [it] often being found dead in the road and in their trash cans. Maybe its rodent-like nature, that seemed to come up in some of the students’ responses. But there were just a lot of feelings,” Robert said.

When Lacy heard about some of the negative reactions to the possum, she was surprised.

“I was completely shocked because I’ve never really encountered anybody that’s been so vehemently against an animal being in a piece of artwork.”

Lacy learned that people associate possums with negative stereotypes about hillbillies that often appear in popular media. For example, the 1960s television show The Beverly Hillbillies regularly featured bits about eating possum.

‘They’re Resilient’

But increasingly, artists from within the region are turning those negative associations inside out. Artists like Raina Rue, the creative force behind Juniper Moon Folk Arts. Raina’s currently based in Winchester, Kentucky, but hails from Irvine.

Raina Rue, of Juniper Moon Folk Arts, sifts through a suitcase full of pins that she designs and makes at her home in Winchester, Kentucky.

She describes her work as “a weird ‘lil hodgepodge of rural queer art you can wear.” Her pins feature pawpaws, rainbows and morel mushrooms, with phrases like “homegrown in the holler,” and “kudzu queer.”

“My top sellers are my possums. I sell more possums than anything else. Which I love. It makes me so happy,” Raina said.

Some of the possums are cute and cuddly, some look tough and ornery. One hangs from a rainbow flag by its tail, another sports a red bandana around its neck.

Amid pins that feature images and words of rural-ness and queer-ness is a possum pin, all by Raina Rue of Juniper Moon Folk Arts.

Raina’s favorite possum design is her most recent.

“He’s punk and he’s wearing a vest that says homesick on the back and he’s crying and smoking a cigarette in a trashy alley.” Raina calls him the Homesick Possum. “It’s kind of like a little ode to displaced country folk,” Raina said.

It’s also a tribute to Appalachia’s DIY arts and punk communities, some of which are embracing the underdog animal as a kind of mascot.

For Raina, the misunderstood possum is more than just a cute, weird little creature.

“They’re resilient, they don’t need any sort of special surroundings to live in. They can live under a truck, or in the woods in a hole in a tree. And I guess I can relate resiliency, scrappiness, all those things to where I come from and the kind of people that I come from.”

Lacy also hopes more people will begin to think possums are awesome. “I would like to see them appreciated for what they are,” she said.

And her wish seems to be coming true, as possums are popping up on jewelry and T-shirts, as tattoos, in memes that possum fans share on social media, and on the now-colorful wall in downtown Harlan.

As Lacy put it, “Possums are in, possums are it, possums are the thing.”

This story is part of the Inside Appalachia Folkways Reporting Project, a partnership with West Virginia Public Broadcasting’s Inside Appalachia and the theFolklife Program of the West Virginia Humanities Council.

The Folkways Reporting Project is made possible in part with support from Margaret A. Cargill Philanthropies to the West Virignia Public Broadcasting Foundation. Subscribe to the podcast to hear more stores of Appalachian folklife, arts, and culture.

The Evolving Culture of W.Va. River Guides

Just about any search on Google for “best white water rafting” includes West Virginia. Around 150,000 people commercially raft a West Virginia river each year, mostly on the New River and Gauley River, which are near Fayetteville, West Virginia. At one point there were just less than 30 rafting companies in the area. Today, they have consolidated into six adventure businesses.

Taking many of the people down the river is a raft guide – someone who is professionally trained to know water, but also to know people. The concept of a river guide in West Virginia started to form in the late 1960s, creating an entire guiding community culture. It is one that has been passed down for decades and is developing more each year.

Every guided raft trip provides guests with a taste of the culture. Especially with experienced guides like Ray Ray, a senior river guide for Adventures on the Gorge – a river guiding outfit in Fayetteville.

It Is In Your Blood, Or It Is Not

On this day, Ray Ray guides eight guests down the lower New River. The water is warm. The canyon surrounding them is tall and covered in thick green trees. Birds are chirping, there is a slight rain drizzle. The arch of the New River Gorge Bridge glimmers in the distance.

Ray Ray paddles a raft down the lower New River. He has been guiding since 1992.

“It’s the best job in the world. I actually have two college degrees I’ve never used a day in my life,” Ray Ray says.

Roger Wilson, CEO of Adventures on the Gorge, says all the guides have a deep love for the outdoors.

“There’s something that happens when that first wave hits you. White Water rafting is either in your blood or it’s not. And when that first wave hit me, I was addicted,” Roger says.

He says guiding is not for everyone, as there is a large social aspect. One must be able to read people just as well as one reads the water.

Dave Bassage, who has been guiding since 1984, says there is a close, mutual respect between him and the customer.

“I really love the dynamic of having a crew of different people every day and introducing them to what I think of as the dance with moving water,” Dave says. “We’re just one of its partners, and we’ve got all these other partners in the raft.”

Roger Wilson (left) and Dave Bassage in front of the main Adventures on the Gorge building. Roger started guiding in 1975 and he took Dave on his first raft trip – Dave later started guiding in 1984.

Being a river guide can be a nomadic lifestyle, as the season goes from March until October. Jay Young, media manager for Adventures on the Gorge, says many of the river guides work at ski resorts in the winter or they continue guiding in South America.

“Those people everything they own fits in the back of their truck or car and they’re off to the next destination to whatever’s in season,” Jay says.

“Ya’ll Ready?”

The guide leading the boat on this day has made a career out of the industry. Ray Ray has guided in West Virginia since 1992, and he has worked on dozens of other rivers across the world.

On this trip, there are four other rafts with guides in the group, but Ray Ray is the trip leader. He consistently checks in with the other guides.

“Ya’ll ready? You ready Caveman?” he asks.

All the river guides have nicknames. One man with shoulder length blonde hair goes by ‘Caveman.’ He got the name because of where he lived for about eight months — the span of a full rafting season.

“I was looking around through the woods one day and found this cool little rock house overhang and just made it into a house,” Caveman says. “I actually had an endangered species of salamander living with me – it was pretty neat.”

And Ray Ray’s nickname is a bit of a mystery, but Jay has a theory.

“Ray Ray is Ray Ray, because he’s twice the fun,” Jay says.

Ray Ray gives the raft paddling commands.

“Forward and back, forward and back, don’t use your arms,” he says.

Rafts floating down the lower New River. Today, guides are in almost every commercial raft; however, in the 60s, 70s and 80s that was not as common.

There are long stretches of calm, scenic floating. Ray Ray explains the history of the area, and he tells stories, like how different rapids and obstacles in the river got their names. There is Greyhound, Flea Flicker, Meat Grinder, Old Nasty and Miller’s Foley.

“A kayaker named Miller got stuffed up underneath that rock over there. He was trying to run a real gnarly line, but he swam out alive, which was a million to one shot,” Ray Ray says. “He needed to go buy himself a lottery ticket.”

Ray Ray’s skin seems to be permanently tan. The fine lines on his face are of a person who has worked outside all of their life. When he sits on the back of the raft, paddle in hand, he is in his element.

Mostly he jokes in a playful voice with the guests…

“Remember I told you if I don’t bring you back they’re gonna dock my pay. So, you better make your swim,” he says.

But in serious moments, Ray Ray exudes confidence. His voice booms, his commands are clear.

Danger Lurks

In the rapid sections of the river, the raft pushes itself through the raging white water. Everyone gets soaked, but Ray Ray guides the entire time.

“Forward go – go! Keep going guys,” he says.

Some of the guests scream from a mix of fear and excitement.

After the rapids, Ray Ray pauses to check on the other rafts in the group.

We’re approaching an obstacle called ‘Meat Grinder.’

“It’s a collection of undercut rocks where water goes under and through it,” Ray Ray says. “We say water goes through and bodies do not.”

Some people are thrown out of their raft in the rapid above Meat Grinder. They are not part of Ray Ray’s group, but he immediately springs into action. The possibility of something catastrophic happening is low, but ‘Meat Grinder’ is one of the more dangerous areas on the river.

The guides react quickly, and Ray Ray shouts to the people bobbing in the white water, trying to save their raft.

“Leave the boat. Swim – swim!”

Everybody is fine, but it is because Ray Ray and the other guides on the trip are experts on reading the water and reading each other. Something Jay Young, the media manager for Adventures on the Gorge, says is just part of being a professional guide.

“If you were to hang out at the guide camp or even a bar on a Saturday night, you wouldn’t think these guys are the professionals that they are,” Jay says. “But when the poo hits the fan on a river, there’s nobody else I’d want out with me, because they rush into action; they all know exactly what to do, and it gets done fast.”

Passing the Paddle Down

Guides have always had their own language, whether it is hand signals on the river, or talking about water depth or names of rapids. Ray Ray says it has evolved over time.

“We’re gonna be running one down here called ‘Flea Flicker’ that a lot of old timers used to call ‘Last Kick in the Pants,’” he says. “For the most part over time, it’s evolved and it’s just a way for us to communicate, it’s our language. It’s like speaking river guide or speaking hippy.”

Guests that were a part of Ray Ray’s group. There are typically eight people to a raft.

And it is the senior guides, like Ray Ray, that teach this new language to the up and coming guides. People who might not have prior rafting experience but are brought together through their love of the outdoors.

Claire Hemme, a former Inside Appalachia intern, is a first year river guide. She took the job, because she wanted to be paid to work outside.

“It’s just this wonderful eclectic mix of everyone from everywhere who just want to be outside,” she says.

The Glory Days

River guides have always been adventure seeking people, says Roger Wilson, the Adventures on the Gorge CEO. He started guiding in 1975, and he says the concept of the commercial rafting industry was still new.

“Every rock wasn’t named, every route wasn’t ran. There was still that point of discovery,” Roger says. “We were developing an industry – developing something new that no one had ever done before.”

Today, safety is a top priority. Before getting on the river, everyone signs a waiver, and guides ask each person about specific health issues.

But that was not always the case. Charlie Walbridge guided on the Cheat River in northern West Virginia from the late 1970s until the early 1980s. He says there was not a guide in every raft, people did not sign a waiver and guests were often treated like friends rather than a paying customer.

“If somebody fell out of the boat, we’d certainly go help them, but we’d laugh at them,” Charlie says. “There were all kinds of slang. When I first started the guests were turkeys, and then carp and then geeks.”

Charlie Walbridge with his kayak at his home in Bruecton Mills, WV. After trying out for the U.S. whitewater rafting team in 1975, Charlie started guiding on the Cheat River.

These days, guides are almost always in every raft, and there is more respect between the guide and customer. Roger says guiding has become a way to share the love of the sport.

“It evolves to watching these new guests hit these rapids for the first time and watching the smile on their face,” Roger says.

Don’t Watch Life Go By

Back on the New River, in the raft with Ray Ray, the trip is almost over.

For most of the guests in the boat, it is their first time down the rapids, but Ray Ray has done it thousands of times. He will be out again the next day, likely guiding more guests down the same rapids, but he still has a big grin and excitement for the river.

Guests on the bus after four hours of rafting. Buses transport guides and guests to and from the river.

“Thanks ya’ll very much,” he says. “Ya’ll played super hard today. I told you that was going to be a fun ride today – that was a rowdy ride.”

On shore, all the rafts are deflated and loaded on a trailer.

All 32 people in the group load up on a bus, where cold beer and soft drinks are waiting. Ray Ray has one last message.

“Guys, keep getting off your coach and living your life. Don’t watch this go by.”

This story is part of an Inside Appalachia episode exploring some of Appalachia’s most unique destinations, on the water and beneath the water. Click here to listen.