On a winding road south of the small town of Pelsor (Pope County), Highway 123 descends into a narrow valley where a crystal-clear stream winds through rock ledges and a lush hardwood forest. Situated in this secluded spot is what appears to be an ideal place for a peaceful weekend retreat.
The tranquility of the daytime is deceptive, however. When night falls, locals claim the atmosphere shifts dramatically. This change can be attributed to one of Arkansas’s most peculiar modern legends: the tale of the Haw Creek Witch.
Unlike many Arkansas tall tales rooted in distant history, this particular story originates from a single interesting discovery. In the late twentieth century, some hikers stumbled upon an unusual arrangement of stones resembling a grave located behind the campground. Marking its head was a rugged stone inscribed with the words: “Here lies the Haw Creek Witch, 1829–1881.”
Here's the problem — no historical records indicate that any woman (witch or otherwise) is buried there. No graveyards can be found nearby, and there are no documented homesteads or recorded nineteenth-century burials in the vicinity. Yet, this marker sits deep in the woods, far from well-maintained trails, seemingly placed for accidental discovery rather than formal visitation.
Theories surrounding the site emerged quickly. Some suggest it belonged to a shunned mountain woman excluded from her community. Others speculate it was a folk healer unfairly blamed for local illness. A darker narrative implies she may have been killed out of fear of being a witch. However, none of these theories has been substantiated, and many researchers now lean towards the notion that the grave was likely just a prank.
Soon, campers began reporting strange occurrences. Some claim to have heard a woman weeping in the forest late at night. Others described footsteps circling their tents, rocks tossed from the darkness, or the persistent sensation of being watched from the tree line. Several visitors claimed their dogs refused to approach the wooded hillside behind the campground. There are no police reports, no injuries, and no confirmed paranormal events. Yet, the story continued to grow every time the tale was told.
Part of the explanation may lie in the area itself. The Ozarks are far from silent after dark. Barred owls produce calls eerily similar to a human scream. Foxes emit sharp, high-pitched cries that sound like someone in trouble. Coyotes, bobcats, and even wind funneling through the narrow valley can create sounds that echo and distort in the forest.
What makes the Haw Creek Witch unusual among Arkansas legends is that the folklore seems to have formed in reverse. Most legends grow from an event and eventually become stories. Here, the physical object came first, and the narrative followed. The suggestion created the legend.
Today, hikers still search for the marker. It has disappeared and reappeared over the years, sometimes rebuilt by visitors. Coins, stones, and small trinkets are occasionally left behind by those who find them. Even skeptics admit that encountering a grave dedicated to a witch deep in remote woods can be unsettling, particularly after sunset, when the valley darkens, and the forest grows loud.
No verifiable haunting has ever been documented at Haw Creek Falls. Still, on cool autumn nights when fog settles over the creek, and owls call across the ridges, it becomes easy to understand why the story refuses to fade.
Whether or not it’s a harmless prank, modern folklore, or simply imagination meeting isolation, the Haw Creek Witch has secured a place among the Natural State’s enduring mysteries, proof that a legend does not always need history to survive. Sometimes all it requires is a quiet forest, a lonely marker, and someone willing to tell the haunting story around a warm campfire.
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