I've heard it said his name was Nate Jackson, or Nathan Jackson. No one knew much about him. He had a propensity to get a bit tipsy and loud at the local taverns. He just sort of showed up one day in the late fall with the itenerant cotton pickers who came through during that time of year.
He was always a bit strange. Kept to himself. He had a way of smiling and laughing at strangers with a toothless grin that would make your skin crawl. One Friday night he got a bit more tipsy than usual and a bit more loud. He hit on the girlfriend of a bloke named Brutus, and you know the rest. Gasping and whipped, he staggered out of the bar and stumbled off. He was found dead along Meadow Valley trail the next morning in this very spot.
Legend has it that if you stand here and listen to the traffic, you can hear him laughing maniacally. If nothing else, he's a patient ghost, and he still hasn't gotten revenge on Brutus.
This is a micro and is a bit of a walk, so don't forget your TOTT.