If I have learned one thing this afternoon, aside from that the Butcher has a box problem, it’s that Kentucky women should not be fucked with. Holy shit.
I’ve been reading about Big and Little Harpe who were two brothers/cousins back in the day who were like if the Mansons and John Wayne Gacy had kids, just running around though Kentucky, Tennessee, and Southern Illinois murdering people like a two man/three wife apocalypse (though in fairness to the wives, it’s not clear they killed anyone). In Kentucky, Big Harpe was finally decapitated by a guy whose wife and kids the Harpes had murdered. His body was left on a hill to rot–a hill that is along Harps Hill Road.
And his head was stuck on a pole north of Dixon, Kentucky.
The younger brother’s head was eventually stuck on a pole along the Natchez Trace.
Years go by, and there’s Big Harp’s head, now just a skull. And some old Kentucky hill woman, the legend goes, took his skull to grind up for medicine, aka magic. And it worked.
But reading about all these outlaws made me wish I had a reader who worked at the State Museum, because, according to the internet, they have some dude’s finger. I would love a tour of all the weird crap the museum has. Fingers, mummies, other mysterious stuff.
Man, I can’t imagine what it would be like to go pluck that skull off a pole. You’d either have to be brave, desperate, or so used to that kind of thing it didn’t even phase you. Any option makes my head spin.