In the mountains of Southwest Virginia, there are places people don’t talk about unless you ask, and even then, you might not get much more than a short answer and a look that tells you not to press it any further.

This week on Roots & Shadows: The Real Appalachia Podcast, we travel to a quiet holler in Rich Valley, where stories have been passed down for decades about something that has been seen there, something that doesn’t quite make sense, and something that, according to the people who’ve experienced it, has never really left.

What started in the 1970s with two men standing at the top of the holler quickly turned into something more. Both of them saw the same thing in broad daylight, a white object moving across the road, up the bank, and toward a house, and not long after, tragedy followed. Years later, that account would still be told the same way, with no change in the details.

Over time, other stories began to surface. A group of sisters who grew up in and around that holler described seeing something from time to time, not every visit, but often enough that it stopped feeling like coincidence. They spoke about a tall white figure, something shaped like a person but not quite right, and more than anything, they described the feeling that came before it. A sense that something wasn’t right, something that made the hair stand up on the back of their necks before they ever saw anything at all.

There were other moments too. Strange sounds with no clear source. A heavy impact against the side of a house that left no mark behind. And a belief passed down in that area that if something falls and you don’t go find out what it was, it can bring bad luck.

At one point, someone from outside the community came into that holler believing something was tied to the land itself, something that had been there for a long time and never left. What came of that is still unclear, but the stories didn’t stop.

Not everyone who has spent time there has experienced anything unusual. Some people have lived in that holler for years and never once seen or felt anything they couldn’t explain. And that matters, because in a place like this, both of those things can be true at the same time.

And even now, those stories continue.

In 2020, a young girl who had grown up hearing about that holler went looking for it, expecting nothing more than a good story. But what she saw that night matched descriptions that had been passed down for generations, down to the smallest detail, something she had never been told before.

Because in Appalachia, you’ll always find both.

The roots, in the land, the families, and the history that’s been carried forward for generations.

And the shadows, in the stories people remember, the things they’ve seen, and the moments they can’t quite explain.

And sometimes, the truth sits somewhere in between.

An old brick house beside Interstate 81 in Seven Mile Ford, Virginia holds nearly two centuries of Appalachian history, mystery, and folklore.
From a Wilderness Road tavern and a cave discovery to the unusual life of writer Lucy Crockett, the Preston House carries stories that refuse to disappear.If you drive north on Interstate 81 through Smyth County, Virginia, just before the Seven Mile Ford exit, there’s an old brick house sitting quietly back from the road. Most people pass it without noticing. But for nearly two centuries, that house has carried stories that refuse to disappear.

In this episode of Roots & Shadows: The Real Appalachia, host Kevin Austin explores the history and folklore surrounding the Preston House, sometimes called the Herondon House, one of the most intriguing historic homes in Southwest Virginia.

Long before the interstate existed, this land sat along the Wilderness Road, one of the most important migration routes in early American history. Settlers heading west into Kentucky and Tennessee passed through this valley with wagons, livestock, and everything they owned. Taverns and inns appeared along the road where weary travelers could rest for the night.

According to local tradition, an early log tavern once stood on the very ground where the brick house now sits. Stories passed down around Seven Mile Ford suggest that some travelers who stopped there were never seen again.

In 1892, a discovery nearby only deepened the mystery. A small cave was found containing the remains of twenty-one skeletons, including one described as a woman holding a child. While no one ever proved where the bones came from, the discovery became part of the long folklore surrounding the property.

The brick house that stands there today was built in 1842 by John Montgomery Preston, part of a prominent Virginia family connected through marriage to Revolutionary War hero William Campbell of nearby Aspenvale. For generations the house served as a gathering place for the Preston family and held an extraordinary collection of historic papers, including letters from George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, James Monroe, and Patrick Henry. Some of these documents were later preserved by the Library of Congress and the Draper Manuscript Collection.

But the most unusual chapter in the story of the house may belong to the last woman who lived there.

After World War II, the property became home to Lucy Crockett, a writer and illustrator who published nine books between 1939 and 1963. One of her novels, The Magnificent Bastards, was adapted into the 1956 film The Proud and the Profane, starring William Holden and Deborah Kerr.

Lucy called the house Herondon, and over the years she became one of the most memorable figures in the area. Locals remember seeing her drive into town in an old military jeep, often carrying a revolver on her hip.

In the early 1960s she reportedly sent letters to officials in Washington, including FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover, claiming she had information about a possible threat to the U.S. government. Family members later recalled that federal agents visited the property in 1963 to investigate the letters.

Today the future of the old house is uncertain. The property was sold in May 2022 with plans for commercial development nearby, and the fate of the historic structure remains unclear.

For now, the old house still stands beside the road near Seven Mile Ford, holding nearly two hundred years of Appalachian history, mystery, and memory.

Because in Appalachia, some places don’t just sit beside the road.

They collect stories.

In June of 1990, a quiet Appalachian town in southwest Virginia was shaken by a crime that many people here still remember decades later. In the small community of Saltville, nestled in Smyth County, life moved at the steady rhythm familiar to so many mountain towns. Families had lived there for generations. Neighbors knew one another. Children rode bikes through the neighborhoods during long summer evenings while the mountains settled into the quiet sounds of another Appalachian night.

But on June 14, 1990, that quiet rhythm was interrupted by a phone call to the Smyth County Sheriff’s Office.

The caller didn’t report a crime. They didn’t describe violence or ask for help. They simply suggested that deputies might want to check on a house in town.

When officers arrived at the home in Saltville’s Government Plant neighborhood, they walked up the short sidewalk and knocked on the front door.

No one answered.

What began as a routine welfare check quickly turned into one of the most disturbing crime scenes the community had seen in nearly twenty years. Inside the home, investigators discovered the bodies of 36-year-old Linda and her two daughters, fourteen-year-old Melissa and thirteen-year-old Amanda.

The man responsible was Linda’s husband, Mickey Wayne Davidson.

In this episode of Roots & Shadows: The Real Appalachia, we take a careful look back at the events surrounding the 1990 Saltville murders — a crime that left an enduring mark on this Appalachian community. Through court records, historical reporting, and conversations with people connected to the case, this episode explores what happened during those two days in June and how the people of Saltville struggled to come to terms with a tragedy that unfolded inside an ordinary home.

We examine the anonymous phone call that first brought deputies to the house, the investigation that followed, and the confession that revealed what had happened inside.

The story also explores the legal case that followed in Smyth County Circuit Court. After being charged with three counts of capital murder, Davidson chose to plead guilty rather than face a full trial. During sentencing, he refused to present a defense and attempted to waive his automatic appeals, telling the courts he believed he deserved the punishment he received.

The case moved through the Virginia court system before ending on October 19, 1995, when Davidson was executed by lethal injection at Greensville Correctional Center.

But the impact of what happened in that house in Saltville didn’t end with the court proceedings.

In small Appalachian towns, tragedies like this don’t simply fade into history. They become part of the memory of a place, stories shared on front porches, in school hallways, and around kitchen tables where people still remember the victims and the lives they were living before everything changed.

The Knock That Went Unanswered is not a story meant to sensationalize violence. It is a reflection on how a quiet Appalachian community responds when tragedy arrives at its doorstep, and how the roots of a place endure long after the shadows have passed.

In this episode of Roots & Shadows, we return to Saltville, Virginia, to a quiet neighborhood, a house on a small street, and a knock on the door that went unanswered.