The Light in Zedediah McCumber’s Chicken House
An overconfident theology major delves into forbidden subjects.
“Okay, Mr. Davenport, tell me about what you think you’ve discovered.”
“Excellent!” He produced his cell phone and opened a text app. “Just to keep my thoughts ordered,” he said. “Now, I’ll give you a brief overview of everything I know.”
“In 1832, what we call Mackenson County, Texas, was part of Mexican Texas. There were a number of landowners in what would later become the county, one of whom was the very wealthy Manuel Vera. Vera was heavily involved in the timber industry and shipped both finished and unfinished wood across the county to the port of Tenby. From Tenby, his product passed down the coast and typically entered into the area that we call ‘Mexico’ today.”
“As trees were felled, the land was, inevitably, cleared. When Vera determined that he had sufficient pastureland, he began an additional business, raising beef and dairy cows on his land. He dealt in livestock of all kinds: In addition to cattle he raised pigs, goats, chickens, and even rabbits.”
“When Vera was somewhat satisfied with his pursuit of wealth, he again turned his attention to other matters. This time he sent for his wife, bringing her north from parts unknown, perhaps Mexico. Unfortunately, her name has not survived in any historical record though in one place she seems to be referred to as Lucia.”
“The first action that Vera took when his wife arrived was to confer with her about a location for a new, grand, home. After some time they settled upon an attractive parcel of land, had it cleared, and built their house. The house is never described except as to its location and ultimate fate. It seems as though Senor Vera had chosen a building site that, when cleared, was noticeably man-made. He saw no issue with this and so ordered the construction of his home on the plot. At some point it was completed, and an additional home was built some distance away for Vera’s oldest son, his wife, and their children.”
Davenport paused, looking over his notes. “Just reading ahead,” he said. “Any questions yet?”
“Yes, about the building site,” I answered.
“I know, I was about to comment on that; it’s central to the story I think. The site, an earthwork, was apparently the remains of a native temple mound. A temple mound is a mound of earth upon which sacred rites and ceremonies are or were observed. It seems that Vera built his home on such a construction. It was abandoned, but at one time it was definitely an active religious center. When I recently drove by the location, the chicken house was obviously built on a low hill, so if you know it’s there you can still clearly see it. If you don’t, it just looks like a low mound of earth.”
“So the Manuel Vera family built a house on a native cultural site. How did we go from home to chicken house?”
“I’ll get to that part now. Though the mound was supposedly abandoned, someone obviously did not appreciate that a house had been built on it. Senor Vera and his family were murdered in the home. It is said that the entire structure was riddled with stone arrows—for some reason it’s specified that they were made of obsidian—and the bodies of the family were...abused. The murders were blamed on a wandering band of natives. No tribe was ever blamed for the massacre, and no one ever took credit for the raid.”
“The murders were never solved?”
“Never. And that’s where the ‘hauntings’ begin, I think. The supernatural history of the place goes from that time to the present day. Immediately after the murders, the Vera family’s oldest son set about to have the place repaired and restored. Workers staying overnight in the house, including armed guards, were found to be missing the following day. It was then decided to keep everyone outside, housing them together in large tents. This is when stories of lights and sound started. The house lit up, at night, with a strange and eerie light. Naturally, there was no electricity. Odd music could also be heard, as though there were a band of singers off somewhere in the distance. No source of either occurrence could be discovered. In no time at all, no workers could be enticed to stay at the place. Then, out of the blue, the house burned to the ground.”
“Were there no other attempts to build?” Davenport was definitely weaving an interesting tale.
“Oh yes, one time. A second house was started years later but left unfinished. The builder ran out of money and couldn’t get the job completed. What’s interesting about that second house is that passersby also reported seeing light and hearing music at the location. Some even reported that ‘evil looking faces’ peered out at them from the windows.”
“Didn’t anyone try to investigate these things?” If this much information was available, it seemed to me like someone ought to have looked into the matter.
“As far as I can tell, no. Now, here’s the history of the place after the loss of the first house. First, Vera—let’s call him Vera Jr.—had the plot of land cleared. All evidence of the original house: Gone. The site was then plowed along with the rest of the surrounding land. Vera Jr. used the property to raise cotton. There seemed to be no issues when the property was being used to raise cotton or food, but there was one note mentioning a local who claimed to have seen a wild sight while traveling in the area late one night. This unnamed individual reported a team of flaming black cats plowing the circumference of the mound. The team was driven by a large ‘red man.’ I found this to be interesting because it is written that this occurred shortly after midnight—there’s our time frame for our investigation. It’s also interesting because it seems to me that the sighting could actually be demonic in nature. Flaming black cats driven by a large red man sounds like an appearance of the devil to me. That’s assuming it actually happened and wasn’t a hoax.”
Davenport took a drink of his soda. “Naturally I’m not saying that the plowing cats have anything to do with whatever is happening on the property. It certainly sounds ridiculous and it’s just an interesting tale. It’s classic folklore, I think.”
“It’s very interesting,” I agreed. “So we have, at least, the remote possibility of a demonic manifestation. Were there other sightings?” I took out my small memo pad so I could make a few notes.
“As long as the land was being farmed or lay fallow, nothing took place. That second house I mentioned was started in the 1940s, I think about a year after World War 2 ended. By this time the Vera family was long gone, and their land had been sold to various folks whose descendants live in the county today. You know, the older families, those who are still well known—those who named or gave their names to the different communities you can see on a county map.” Davenport paused his tale to dip a couple of french fries. He ate them slowly and took a bite of his sandwich.
“I think,” he said, “that the site stayed inactive until the 1980s or the 1990s. At some point in the 1950s the remains of that second house burned to the ground. After that, the site was plowed under again and seems to have been used exclusively for growing soybeans by one Zedadiah McCumber. The farm is now called the ‘old McCumber place.’ In the late 1980s or maybe the 1990s was when a large chicken processing company began to expand its operations. They came into the county with big money, being in the market for a massive amount of both chickens and eggs. Quite a few farmers including Mr. McCumber went into the chicken business after that—if you’ve ever took a ride through the countryside, you will probably have noticed the remains of chicken houses everywhere. They’re remnants of the days when the chicken business was at its high point. Anyway, at some point in the 80s or 90s our temple mound went from being a soybean field to a chicken house, and along with the chicken house came…”
“Lights and music?” I knew before I asked.
“Exactly. But no one has gone missing this time around. After the decline of the chicken business, McCumber left the chicken houses sitting there, serving no purpose. Well, no farming purpose. I think he actually stores some farm equipment in the building. Whatever the case, it’s said that the owner and his family will not set foot inside the building after dark, and they won’t go inside unaccompanied during the day. Same is true with their employees: They’re never allowed inside alone. A few workers have reported singing. A few adventurous sorts who’ve slipped onto the property have also reported singing and strange lights. They usually come back and remain silent about whatever they saw or else they just don’t have much to say about it. That information isn’t in any book. I just asked around and that’s what I uncovered.”
“You said chicken houses, plural?”
“Oh yes, I guess I forgot to mention it. There are two chicken houses sitting side by side, but only the one has any activity.”
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