What We Already Know
By: B.S. Tucker In the South, we love our ghost stories. Not just the ones about old houses and graveyards, but the ones that drift on rivers and settle in the woods. Stories of wounded soldiers, grieving mothers, and lost children. We don’t just tell them—we carry them. Because down here, ghosts don’t stay gone. They haunt the land, the water, and the bloodline. I’ve heard the story of Tommy my whole life. A tale of good times, fast money, and bad blood. Folks say it’s a warning—but you can't understand Tommy, not really, until you know about Jay Bird’s. The Norfolk Southern Railroad cut our town clean in two. On one side: hounds, single-wides, and Sunday yard sales. On the other: golden retrievers, cul-de-sacs, and HOA newsletters. And tucked right up against the tracks, like it dared you to cross it, sat Jay Bird’s—a cinderblock dive where even the deputies didn't respond. I’m not proud to say it, but most of us grew up in the shadow of Jay Bird’s. Summers were spent...
