The Appalachian Twins Too Evil for History Books: Ruth & Ruby (Aged 18)

 

We’re about to delve into a mystery that spanned generations, buried deep in the mountains of West Virginia, where two twin sisters defied all societal expectations and left a legacy so dark that history books chose to forget their names. It was the year 1932.

 

 

 The Great Depression was suffocating the United States with invisible hands, crushing dreams, and pushing entire families into the abyss of poverty. In the mountainous regions of the Appalachian, the situation was even more desperate. There, between mistcovered peaks and deep valleys where the sun barely penetrated, communities lived virtually isolated from the rest of the world.

 

There were no paved roads connecting these small villages to larger cities. The trails were dirt, muddy for months, and any journey meant days of walking or wagon pulling by weary mules. West Virginia has always been a land of hardy people shaped by coal mining and subsistence farming. The mountains hold secrets unlike any other place in America.

 

 There are caves that have never been fully explored, canyons where echoes are lost without return, forests so dense that even in broad daylight they seem enveloped in eternal twilight. In this landscape were born Ruth and Ruby, twin sisters who would become a dark legend whispered in taverns and around campfires for decades. They were born in Mcdow County, a region known for its deep minds, and a population that learned from an early age to survive on very little.

 

 The year was 1914 when World War I was beginning to take its toll on Europe. But there, in those distant mountains, the outside world seemed to exist in another dimension. The twins grew up in a rough wooden cabin built on the banks of a stream that flowed foaming from the heights. Their father worked in the mines like almost all the men in the region.

 

 Their mother tended a meager garden and a few animals that provided the bare minimum to keep them from starving. From a young age, Ruth and Ruby showed themselves to be different from the other girls in their community. While the local girls learned to embroider, cook, and prepare for early marriage, and raising their own families, the twins preferred to wander the mountain trails, exploring places the locals avoided.

 

 There was something in their eyes, neighbors said, a strange glint, an intensity that caused discomfort. They didn’t talk much, but when they did, their words carried an unsettling weight. By the time they turned 18 in 1932, the twins had become near mythical figures in that region. Rumors swirled about them. Whispers spread by word of mouth on cold winter nights.

 

 They said they knew every secret mountain trail, every hidden cave, every shortcut that cut days of travel. They also said they had an almost supernatural connection, that they could communicate without words. That they knew when one was in danger, even when miles apart. But there were darker rumors. Travelers passing through the region began to disappear.

 

 Not many, maybe three or four a year, but enough to create a worrying pattern. They were always outsiders, those unfamiliar with the mountains who ended up lost on the trails, itinerant traders, workers looking for work in the mines, wanderers with no fixed destination. Some believed the mountains simply swallowed these people, that accidents happened, that it was easy to fall into a gorge or be caught in a sudden storm.

 

 Others, however, began to look at the twins with suspicion. The McDow County Sheriff at the time was a man named William Hargrove, a war veteran who had returned with a wounded leg and a weary look in his eyes. He knew every family in the area, every secret the mountains tried to hide. William knew the twins were different, but different didn’t mean criminal.

 

 He needed proof, hard evidence. And in the Appalachian Mountains, proof was rarer than gold. In May of 1933, a cloth merchant named Thomas Whitmore disappeared. He was traveling from Charleston, the capital of West Virginia, bringing goods to sell in remote mountain communities. Thomas was known for always following the same route, stopping at the same places, and treating his customers well.

 When he failed to appear in the town of Welch, where he usually spent the night every third week of the month, residents became concerned. His horse was found three days later wandering alone on a trail near the area where Ruth and Ruby were often seen. Sheriff Harrove organized a search. He gathered 20 men, some with sniffer dogs, others with flashlights and ropes.

 They searched the areas around the trail where the horse had been found. The mountains were treacherous at that time of year, with frequent rains turning the ground into slippery mud. After 5 days of searching, they found some of Thomas’ belongings scattered near a rock formation knownlocally as Raven Rock.

 There were shreds of torn cloth, an empty leather bag, but no sign of the traitor. It was then that someone mentioned seeing the twins in that area on the very day Thomas disappeared. The witness was a hunter named Edmund Price, a man of few words, but with a solid reputation. He swore he saw Ruth and Ruby talking to a man matching Thomas’s description near a trail junction a few miles from Ravenrock.

 Edmund said he found it odd because the twins rarely spoke to strangers, but at that moment they seemed cordial, even friendly. The sheriff decided to question Ruth and Ruby. He rode to the cabin where they lived with their parents, taking two deputies with him. The cabin was more dilapidated than he remembered, with loose boards and a partially tarped roof.

 The twins greeted them on the porch, identical in appearance, but with something in their eyes that sent a chill down even seasoned men’s spines. They denied having met any trader. They said they had been hunting that day, looking for rabbits and squirrels to eat. There was no way to prove otherwise. Sheriff Harrove’s investigation ran into something he knew well, the silence of the mountains.

 In Appalachian communities, there was an unwritten code of mutual protection, a natural distrust of outside authorities. Even when suspicions arose, even when rumors circulated in taverns and on front porches, getting someone to formally testify was nearly impossible. People feared retaliation, feared becoming the next target, feared breaking family ties that had spanned generations in these isolated lands.

William Harrove was no fool. He understood that Ruth and Ruby came from a well-known family in the region, who, despite extreme poverty, had connections through their father, who worked in the mines. The miners formed a brotherhood of their own, united by the dangers they faced daily deep in the earth.

 Accusing a minor’s daughters without solid evidence could create problems the sheriff was unprepared for, especially at a time when the law barely made its presence felt in these forgotten corners. But William was persistent. He began reviewing old cases, disappearances that had been filed away as accidents or simply as people who chose to move on and never returned.

 In the dusty county archives, stored in wooden boxes in a damp basement that smelled of mold and old paper. He found records dating back to 1928. At least nine people had disappeared near the trails that cut through the territory frequented by the twins. Nine people in 5 years. All lone travelers, all from out of the area, all without close family to press for further investigation.

 The pattern was disturbing. The disappearances always occurred between April and October when the trails were passable and travelers ventured into the mountains. During the harsh winter, when snow and ice made the passes virtually impossible, no disappearances were recorded. This suggested something beyond simple natural disasters.

 The mountains were just as dangerous in winter, perhaps even more so. But it was precisely during this season that no one disappeared without explanation. William decided to do something unconventional. Instead of confronting the twins again, he began discreetly observing them. He asked Edmund Price, the hunter, who had seen them with Thomas Whitmore, to keep an eye on their movements.

 Edmund knew these mountains like the back of his hand, knew how to move silently, and could read tracks and signs that most people wouldn’t notice. For weeks he followed Ruth and Ruby from a distance, noting their patterns, the places they frequented, the times they left and returned home. What Edmund discovered was both fascinating and unsettling.

 The twins had an almost ritualistic routine. They always left the cabin before dawn. When the mist still covered the valleys like a thick ghostly shroud, they followed side trails, avoiding the main paths where they might encounter others. They had specific spots where they stopped, places that seemed to hold special meaning for them.

 One such place was a natural cave on the northern flank of Mount Pinnacle, a formation that stood like a dark sentinel over the surrounding landscape. Edmund never managed to get close enough to the cave without risking detection. The twins were incredibly alert to their surroundings, turning their heads at the slightest noise, stopping suddenly like wild animals sensing danger.

 But he noticed that they would carry canvas bags into the cave and emerge hours later with the bags apparently empty. What were they hiding inside? What did this place hide in its damp, dark depths? In August of 1933, another disappearance shook the region. This time, it was a young man named Marcus Peton who worked as a surveyor for a Charleston company interested in mapping potential areas for mining expansion.

Marcus was 23 years old, known for his meticulousness and for always submitting detailed reports on his work. When hestopped communicating, the company sent two men to investigate. The men found Marcus’ camp abandoned, his equipment scattered chaotically as if he had left in a hurry.

 His compass lay broken on the ground, maps torn, notes partially burned in a dying fire. There was something violent about the scene, something that suggested struggle or desperation. One of the men in the company was a war veteran and recognized the signs immediately. This had not been an accident nor a voluntary abandonment. Something terrible had happened there.

Sheriff Hargrove was called again. This time he arrived on the scene with six deputies and renewed determination. The scene was disconcerting. Among Marcus’ belongings, they found a journal where he recorded his observations of the region. The last few entries were particularly intriguing. Marcus had written about meeting two women in the mountains, identical twins, who offered to help him map certain difficultto-reach areas.

 He described the sisters as having a deep understanding of the terrain, able to guide him through shortcuts that would save days of work. The last diary entry, dated 3 days before the camp was found abandoned, read, “The sisters invited me to visit a cave that they say contains impressive rock formations. They said few people know about this place.

 I will leave with them tomorrow at dawn. I will finally be able to map the northern region of Mount Pinnacle accurately. After that, nothing. Blank pages. Absolute silence. Now, William Hargrove had something more concrete. The diary was evidence that directly linked Ruth and Ruby to Marcus’s disappearance. But there was still the problem of proving what really happened.

 He knew he needed to enter that cave, see for himself what the twins were hiding there. But doing so without proper preparation would be suicide. Appalachian caves were deadly labyrinths with deep shafts hidden in darkness, passages that narrowed until they became impenetrable, chambers where toxic gases accumulated without warning.

The sheriff recruited three experienced miners, men accustomed to working underground who knew how to spot dangers and navigate safely in confined spaces. He also brought extra flashlights, sturdy ropes, and each man carried a gun. They didn’t know exactly what they would encounter, but they were prepared for the worst.

 Edmund Price would guide them to the cave entrance on Pinnacle Mountain, using his detailed knowledge of the trails and the twins routine. They set out on a September morning, just as autumn was beginning to paint the leaves in shades of red and gold. The air was crisp, almost chilly, and the morning mist created a ghostly atmosphere among the dark trunks of the oaks and pines.

 The hike to Mount Pinnacle took 4 hours. climbing steep slopes where they had to hold onto roots and rocks to keep from slipping. The group remained silent, communicating only by hand gestures, alert for any sign that the twins might be nearby. The cave entrance was inconspicuous, partially hidden by bushes and a rock formation that created a sort of natural vestibule.

 Without Edmund’s knowledge of where to look, it would have been easy to pass right by without noticing the dark opening that led into the bowels of the mountain. William Harg Grove turned on his flashlight and motioned for the others to follow. The cave’s interior was damp and cold with limestone walls that glowed faintly in the flashlight light.

 Drops of water fell from the ceiling at irregular intervals, creating a rhythmic, disturbing sound that echoed in the darkness. The group advanced slowly through the cave, their flashlights casting dancing shadows on the uneven stone walls. The smell was of wet earth mixed with something else, an odor the miners recognized immediately, but chose not to name.

 The initial passage was relatively wide, allowing two men to walk side by side, but it soon began to narrow, forcing them to walk single file. The ceiling gradually lowered, forcing them to lower their heads and then bend over almost completely. William Harrove felt the weight of the mountain above him, tons and tons of rock that seemed to press down on the air around him.

 He wasn’t claustrophobic, but there in that narrow tunnel with absolute darkness waiting beyond the dim reach of his flashlights, even a brave man felt the first stirrings of panic trying to creep into his mind. He took a deep breath, forced himself to remain calm, and continued forward. The miners behind him seemed more comfortable, accustomed to such environments, but even they maintained serious, watchful expressions.

 After about 30 minutes of difficult walking, the passage suddenly opened into a vast chamber. The ceiling rose so high that the lantern light could barely reach, creating a sense of vastness and oppression at the same time. Stallactites hung like stone spears, some so long they nearly touched the floor, where stagmites grew in bizarre formations. Water flowed somewherenearby.

 A constant sound of dripping and flowing filling the heavy silence. It was then that they saw the first signs of human presence. There were marks of ancient fires on the ground. Circles of blackened stones surrounding long extinguished ashes. Pieces of torn cloth were scattered throughout the chamber. Some already decomposed by the humidity.

Others still recognizable as belonging to clothing travelers would wear. One of the miners found an old moldy leather boot, the kind traveling traders used to wear for long walks. William approached one of the chambers walls and raised his flashlight to examine it more closely. There was something engraved in the stone.

 Deliberate scratches forming symbols he didn’t recognize. They weren’t letters from any alphabet he knew, but primitive drawings, stylized human figures in pairs, always in pairs, connected by lines that suggested some kind of connection. Between these figures were other symbols, shapes that seemed to represent mountains, caves, or perhaps something more abstract that escaped the comprehension of rational minds.

 Edmund Price, who had remained near the chamber entrance, keeping watch from behind, called to the others in an urgent whisper. He had found something that made even the seasoned hunter take a few steps back. In a natural depression in the ground, partially hidden by a rock formation, lay a collection of personal belongings. Empty leather wallets, rusty pocket watches, rings and chains, coat buttons, knives of various sizes, even glasses with broken lenses.

 It was a Macabb collection. trophies kept as momentos of something terrible. Sheriff Harrove felt his stomach churn. Here was the physical evidence he’d been searching for, concrete evidence connecting the cave to the disappearances. But there was something even more disturbing about the discovery, the deliberate organization of the objects, the care with which they had been arranged, as if they were part of some ritual or ceremony understood only by the twins.

 It wasn’t the chaos of a violent, uncontrolled crime, but the cold order of something planned and repeated over and over again. One of the miners, a man named Joseph Carter, who had been working in the depths since he was 15, pointed to a side passage that opened into the far wall of the chamber. The opening was low and narrow, barely visible in the dim light, but a noticeable draft came from it, indicating it led somewhere deeper into the mountain.

 Joseph said that circulating air meant another exit, or at least a larger chamber beyond, but it also meant that any sound they made could travel through these passages and alert anyone exploring other parts of the cave system. William made a decision. Two men would remain in the main chamber, guarding the entrance and cataloging the evidence found.

 He would lead Joseph and another minor through the side passage to explore what lay beyond. Edmund Price insisted on accompanying them, arguing that he knew the twins habits better than anyone, and could anticipate their movements if they appeared. The sheriff agreed, and the four men prepared to delve deeper into the mountains bowels.

 The side passage was narrow, forcing them to crawl in some sections, pushing their flashlights ahead, and pulling themselves up with their elbows over the damp, rough stone. The air grew thinner the farther they went, and everyone began to feel a growing pressure in their ears. Joseph explained in whispers that they were descending, likely following a natural fault that cut through the mountain at a downward angle.

 He warned them to beware of gases, which in deep caves could build up without warning and kill a man in minutes. After an eternity of crawling in the dark, the passage finally opened into another chamber, smaller than the first, but with distinctly different characteristics. The floor here was more uneven, covered in loose boulders that made balance difficult.

 But what caught their attention most was what they found in the center of the chamber. A structure made by human hands. A sort of altar built of carefully stacked stones forming a raised platform approximately 3 ft high. On the altar lay more objects, but these were different from the trophies found in the previous chamber.

 Here were arranged scraps of stained cloth, small bones that appeared to be from animals, twisted branches arranged in geometric patterns, and in the center of it all a dark leather-bound book so old the pages seemed ready to fall apart at the slightest touch. William Hargrove picked up the book with extreme care, holding it like a bomb about to explode.

 The book’s pages were covered in faded ink and elaborate handwriting that ranged from legible to completely incomprehensible. There were passages in English, but also passages in other languages William didn’t recognize. Drawings filled the margins, detailed illustrations of human figures, always in pairs, always twins, surrounded bysymbols that echoed those engraved on the walls of the first chamber.

 Some pages contained what appeared to be records, dates written alongside names and brief descriptions. With trembling hands, William leafed through the book, searching for something that made sense, something he could use as comprehensible evidence in court. He found a page dated 1928 with a name he recognized.

 Henry Aldridge, a hardware salesman who had disappeared that year. Beside the name was a brief note, taken to sanctuary, the mountain accepts, we are keepers of the covenant. Other pages contained names corresponding to disappearances William had investigated in the county archives. Marcus Peton was there, dated August 1933, with the note, “What maps will be mapped? The mountain claims its secrets.

” Joseph Carter, examining the altar more closely, found something hidden in a crevice between the stones. It was a smaller, more recent journal with a still relatively new leather cover. He handed it to the sheriff, who opened it with renewed caution. This journal was different, written clearly in modern English, with handwriting that alternated between two subtly different versions of the same hand.

 William realized that each twin wrote on alternate days, keeping a shared record of their thoughts and actions. The most recent entries were disturbing in their superficial normality. Ruth had written about the weather, about plants she’d encountered on the trails, about a deer she’d seen drinking from a stream at dawn.

 Ruby had written about dreams, visions of mountains that breathed, of stones that whispered ancient secrets in forgotten languages. But among these mundane and poetic entries were oblique references to visitors, those who come from outside, those whom the mountain chooses. William Harrove continued reading the diary with a mixture of fascination and growing horror.

 An entry from Ruby, dated June of that year, read, “The mountain chose us before we were even born. Mother always knew but was afraid to speak. She told us about grandmother, about great-g grandandmother, about all the twins who came before, always in pairs, always guardians. We did not choose this path, but it chose us.

 and to refuse it would be to betray the blood that runs in our veins. This suggested something far beyond isolated crimes, something that spanned generations, a dark tradition passed from mother to daughter across decades or perhaps centuries. Edmund Price was restless, pacing back and forth across the chamber, constantly glancing back at the passage they had entered.

 He knew the twins knew they visited these caves regularly and could appear at any moment. If they were surprised here in this stone labyrinth, where Ruth and Ruby had every advantage of intimate knowledge of the terrain, the consequences could be catastrophic. He quietly suggested that they take the diaries and other items as evidence and leave immediately.

 But William was determined to explore further. There was another passage leading off this second chamber, even narrower than the previous one. Joseph Carter examined the opening with his flashlight and said the air coming from it was different, more humid with a strong mineral smell that indicated running water nearby. Underground rivers were common in this region of the Appalachians, flowing through channels carved by erosion over thousands of years.

 Some of these rivers emerged in springs on the surface. Others disappeared into deep sink holes, never to be seen again. Against Edmund’s advice, the group decided to press on. The passage was so narrow that they had to take off their coats and leave them behind, crawling on their bellies over the cold, wet stone.

 Their lanterns created a claustrophobic effect of light and shadow that played with depth perception, making it seem as if the walls were closing in on them. The sound of rushing water grew louder, a muffled roar reverberating through the solid rock. When they finally emerged into the third chamber, the spectacle that awaited them was both beautiful and terrifying.

 An underground river cut through the cavern from one side to the other. Its black swift waters flowing forcefully through a channel carved into the rock. The chamber was vast, its ceiling disappearing into darkness beyond the reach of their flashlights. Giant stelactites hung like stone curtains, and the sound of the water created a deafening symphony of echoes and resonances.

 But it wasn’t the river or the rock formations that took the four men’s breath away. On the opposite bank of the river, partially visible in the dim light of their flashlights, stood a structure that was clearly not natural. It looked like some kind of construction of stacked stones forming low walls that enclosed a rectangular space.

 Within this space, even from a distance, it was possible to see stomach churning shapes. Shapes that were once human, but that time and the cave’s conditions had transformed intosomething almost unrecognizable. Joseph Carter, with his experience in subterranean environments, quickly assessed the situation. The river was too deep and swift to swim across, and there was no visible bridge or passage.

But he noticed that higher up, where the chamber narrowed, large rocks formed a sort of irregular path across the current. It would be dangerous. The rock was slippery from the constant humidity, and a fall into those icy waters would mean certain death, swept by the current into the unknown depths of the mountain.

William Hargrove knew he had to reach that structure, had to see for himself what was truly there. He couldn’t return to the surface and mount a proper investigation based solely on guesswork and distant glimpses. The sheriff began moving carefully toward the rocks crossing the river, testing each step before transferring his weight completely.

 The others followed, keeping a safe distance from each other so as not to overload any individual stone. The crossing took 15 minutes of absolute tension. At any moment a rock could give way or a foot could slip, sending either of them tumbling into the turbulent waters. The roar of the river was deafening there in the middle of the crossing, making any verbal communication impossible.

 When they finally reached the opposite bank, they were all drenched in sweat despite the intense cold of the cave, and their hands trembled, not only from the temperature, but also from the fear they had suppressed during the crossing. Up close, the structure revealed its true macab nature. Stone walls enclosed an area approximately 3 m x 4 m.

 And within this area was what could only be described as an unofficial cemetery. There were no coffins or headstones, but the remains of at least seven people were laid out there. Each set of bones arranged with disturbing care. Decomposing clothing still covered some of the skeletons, allowing them to be identified as belonging to different eras, some obviously older than others.

Among the remains were carefully placed personal objects as if they were offerings. Pocket watches, wallets, rings, religious medals, even eyeglasses positioned where the eyes of long-lost faces would have been. The arrangement had an undeniable ritualistic quality, each body placed in the same position, facing the same direction, with hands crossed over the chest in a parody of proper burial.

 Edmund Price pointed to something carved in the stone on the structures far wall. Using his flashlight to better illuminate it, he revealed an inscription in old English, the letters carved deep into the rock. Here lie those the mountain claimed. May their souls nourish the ancient roots. May their silence keep the sacred secrets.

 Guardians we are, guardians we will be, until other twins come to replace us. The inscription was ancient, clearly made decades, perhaps even a century earlier, suggesting that Ruth and Ruby were only the latest in a line of twin sisters perpetuating this dark tradition. Joseph Carter was examining the bones with a professional eye, trying to determine cause of death and approximate time of death.

 He pointed to fractures in several skulls, marks consistent with blows from heavy objects. Some ribs showed signs of trauma broken by violent force. But most disturbingly, none of the bodies showed signs of having been dragged or handled carelessly. On the contrary, despite the obvious violence of their deaths, the bodies had been transported and arranged with an almost loving delicacy, as if the killers felt some kind of reverence for their victims.

 William Harrove forced himself to mentally catalog every detail, every piece of evidence he could use later. Among the skeletons, he identified items of clothing that matched the descriptions of some of the missing. a woolen jacket with brass buttons worn by Thomas Witmore the draper. A leather vest that had belonged to an itinerant blacksmith who disappeared in 1930.

 Boots with distinctive markings that matched old missing person’s records. But there was something else in that chamber, something that was only noticed when Edmund moved his flashlight, exploring the shadows beyond the burial structure. In the far wall, partially hidden by a formation of stelagmites, was an opening that led to a fourth passage.

 Unlike the others, this one appeared to have been partially worked by human hands, the edges of the opening bearing tool marks, as if someone had widened a natural crevice to create a more accessible passage. Joseph Carter approached the opening and examined the markings on the stones. He said the work was ancient, made with primitive tools, probably decades old.

 Whoever had carved this passage had knowledge of stonework and had devoted considerable time to the project. The opening was large enough for a person to pass through while stooping, and from it came a draft that smelled different from the rest of the cave, an odor of earth and decaying vegetation that suggested a closeconnection with the surface.

 The group hesitated before that fourth passage. They were already deep within the cave system, far from the original entrance, and every minute they spent there increased the risk of being surprised by the twins. Hedman Price was visibly nervous now, his hunting instincts alerting him to dangers they might not yet see or hear.

 He argued that they already had enough evidence that they should turn back while they still had the chance. But William Harrove sensed they were on the verge of discovering something fundamental, the final piece that would explain not only the recent crimes, but the entire dark history that stretched back generations.

 They entered the carved passage, moving with renewed caution. The walls here showed clear signs of human intervention. Smooth surfaces where the natural stone had been carved, regular notches that served as handholds and footholds in steeper sections. The passage rose gradually, contradicting the steady descent they had experienced thus far.

 Joseph Carter explained that they were likely following an ancient access route perhaps created by past prospectors or explorers who discovered these chambers and decided to make them more accessible. After about 20 minutes of ascending, the passage opened into a smaller chamber, but this one was fundamentally different from all the others.

 It wasn’t a natural formation decorated with stelactites and stelagmites, but rather a room carved into the living rock with relatively flat walls and a low uniform ceiling, and within that room were unmistakable signs of prolonged and recent human occupation. Blankets were rolled up in a corner. Metal pots hung on hooks on the wall.

 And wooden crates were stacked with groceries and other supplies. A rough table made of unfinished planks held melted candles, more leatherbound journals, and various objects that seemed to have been collected over the years. The walls were covered with drawings and writings, layers upon layers of marks that told a visual story of obsession and ritual.

 William approached the table and began examining the diaries displayed there. They were older than those found in the previous chamber, some with leather covers so worn they crumbled to the touch. He opened one carefully and saw that the first page was dated 1873, 59 years earlier. The handwriting was elaborate, the kind cultivated by educated people of the 19th century.

 And the text began, “My sister and I came to these mountains following the whispers of blood. Our mother taught us before she died, just as her mother taught her, going back to times long since forgotten. We are the guardians, and this is our sacred burden. Other diaries revealed similar stories, different twins at different times, all recounting versions of the same central narrative.

They were chosen from birth, raised to protect some ancient secret of the mountains, taught that certain travelers needed to be taken to sacred places where the mountain claimed them. The descriptions varied in detail, but the core remained constant through the decades. There were mentions of ancient pacts, promises made before white settlers, responsibilities inherited from the first peoples.

 Edmund Price drew the others attention to something on the walls. Among the drawings and writings, was a more elaborate panel, clearly created with more care and intention than the other markings. It was a kind of family tree, but rendered in a unique way. Instead of branching upward, it descended vertically with each generation represented by a pair of connected circles symbolizing twins.

 The tree began at the top with symbols that were not English names, but characters that seem to represent concepts or titles. Moving down the wall, the symbols gradually gave way to names. Sarah and Susan, then Martha and Mary, then Elizabeth and Elellanena, and so on until reaching the bottom where it was written in still relatively fresh ink, Ruth and Ruby.

 Joseph Carter counted the pairs of circles on the family tree. There were 17 generations represented there, 17 sets of twins over a period that if each generation lasted approximately 30 years, would stretch back over 500 years. This would place the origins of this tradition before European colonization of the region, perhaps even in indigenous practices that were somehow absorbed or mixed with beliefs brought by later settlers.

Sheriff Hargrove realized he was dealing with something much larger and more complex than simple murder. This was a tradition, a family cult that had persisted through centuries, adapting and surviving through social change, war, and the passage of time itself. The twins were not simply criminals, but practitioners of something they genuinely believed to be a sacred responsibility, a duty that transcended human laws and ordinary mortality.

 But understanding the motivation didn’t change the reality of the victims. Men had died, families had lost loved ones,and all of this in the name of a belief that, however ancient and deeprooted, had no place in the modern world. William knew his obligation was clear. Ruth and Ruby needed to be arrested, tried, and prevented from continuing that bloody tradition.

 But he also knew it wouldn’t be simple. They wouldn’t surrender easily. Not when they believed they were fulfilling an ancient purpose. Edmund suddenly raised his hand for absolute silence. His trained hunter’s ear had picked up something the others hadn’t yet noticed. There were sounds coming from the passage they had entered, sounds of movement, of light, but deliberate footsteps on stone.

Someone was coming toward them. someone who knew these passages perfectly and moved with the confidence of someone in familiar territory. The four men quickly turned off their flashlights, plunging the camera into near darkness. Only a faint glow came from the passageway. A gradually approaching light, accompanied now by female voices echoing eerily through the stone.

 William couldn’t make out any words, but the tone was calm, conversational, two identical voices alternating in a conversation that sounded almost musical in the way they intertwined. The group positioned themselves in the deepest shadows of the chamber, holding their breath, hands on their weapons, but hesitant to use them. They were in unfamiliar territory, in the twins sanctuary, where any confrontation would be deeply disadvantageous.

 The light in the passage grew brighter, and now they could hear words clearly. Ruth and Ruby were talking about medicinal plants they had collected, about a deer they had seen near the stream, about how autumn was coming early this year. The twins entered the chamber carrying oil lanterns that cast a flickering yellow light.

 They stopped abruptly when they realized something was different, their sharp instincts immediately detecting signs of intrusion. Ruth pointed to the table where William had been shuffling the diaries, where the candles were positioned slightly differently. Ruby turned her head slowly, scanning every corner of the chamber with eyes that seemed capable of penetrating shadows themselves.

 William Hargrove knew there was no point in remaining hidden. He turned on his flashlight and stepped forward, revealing his presence. The twins showed no surprise or fear, only a kind of calm resignation, as if they had always known this moment would eventually arrive. They placed their flashlights on the ground and stood side by side, identical in posture and expression, awaiting what would come next.

 The sheriff spoke first, his voice echoing strangely in the underground chamber. He said he knew what they had been doing, that he had found the evidence, the bodies, the diaries. He said they would have to return with him to face justice for their crimes. Ruth and Ruby exchanged glances, a silent communication passing between them. And then Ruby answered, her voice surprisingly soft and polite.

 She explained that they didn’t understand, that they couldn’t understand because they didn’t carry the guardian’s blood. She said, “The mountains were ancient, older than any laws written by men in distant chambers, that there were pacts made when the world was young, agreements between the land and those who inhabited it, promises that transcended generations.

” Ruth added that they hadn’t chosen this path, but they also couldn’t reject it without bringing calamity upon all who lived in those mountains. William Harrove listened to the twins words with a mixture of disbelief and profound sadness. He was a pragmatic man, shaped by war and years of facing the harsh realities of the mountains.

 But even so, he sensed something genuine in their conviction. They weren’t mad in the conventional sense of the word, nor did they display the disconnect with reality he’d seen in other criminals. Instead, there was a disturbing clarity in their eyes, an unshakable certainty about their purpose that made everything even more unsettling.

 Edmund Price and the two miners remained tense, ready to act if the twins tried to flee or attack, but Ruth and Ruby showed no intention of physical resistance. They seemed to have accepted that this chapter of their lives was coming to an end, though that didn’t mean they agreed with the legitimacy of the authority the men represented.

 Ruby continued speaking, her voice maintaining that calm, almost educational tone, as if she were explaining complex concepts to people who didn’t yet have the capacity to fully grasp them. She told them that the first guardian, whose true name was lost in the mists of time, had been a woman among the native people who inhabited these mountains long before European settlers arrived.

 This woman had given birth to twins during a harsh winter when the tribe was dying of hunger and disease. Desperate, she had taken the babies into the sacred caves, places where the elders said the spirits of the mountains resided. There, according tolegend, passed down through the generations, she had made a pact. Her daughters and all the twins who came after them would protect the secrets of the mountains, maintain the balance between the world of the living and the world of the underworld, and in exchange, the tribe would survive. Ruth

took over the narrative where her sister left off, explaining that when European settlers arrived, bringing new diseases and conflicts, most of the native peoples were decimated or driven out. But one of the guardians of that generation had married a settler, a man who respected the ancient traditions and accepted that his own twin daughters would carry on the legacy.

 Through the centuries, the lineage persisted. Sometimes through native blood, sometimes through settler families, but always maintaining the essence of the original pact. William asked directly about the men who had died, Thomas Whitmore, Marcus Peton, and all the others whose remains lay in that burial chamber beyond the underground river.

 He demanded to know why these specific people had been chosen, what criteria they used to decide who would live and who would die. The twins exchanged another look, laden with silent communication before answering. Ruby explained that they didn’t choose arbitrarily. There were signs they learned to recognize as children.

Teachings passed down from their mother, who in turn had learned from their grandmother. Certain travelers carried an invisible mark, something only the guardians could perceive. It wasn’t something physical, but rather a quality of their presence, a resonance with the mountains that indicated those people were destined to become part of the place in a deeper way.

 Ruth added that it was always the mountains own choice, that they merely served as intermediaries like priestesses of a cult older than any Christian religion. Joseph Carter, who had remained silent until then, finally spoke. He said he had worked in the mines since he was young, that he knew the depths of the earth better than most, and that he had never seen or felt anything that suggested the presence of spirits or entities demanding human sacrifice.

 To him, it was all superstition mixed with madness, a family tradition that should have been abandoned generations ago, but persisted because each new generation of twins was indoctrinated from birth to believe an ancient lie. Joseph’s words seemed to reach Ruth in a way the sheriff’s accusations hadn’t. She stepped forward, her eyes shining brightly in the flashlight light, and for the first time since they’d been discovered, her voice carried real emotion, a mixture of anger and frustration. She said that men like him

who dug coal from the bowels of the earth without respect or understanding were precisely why the guardians were needed. She said that modern minds were harming the mountain in ways that threw everything off balance, that every explosion and every tunnel dug without proper rituals created fissures not just in the stone, but in the very essence of the place.

 Ruby placed a hand on her sister’s shoulder, calming her with a touch that demonstrated the deep connection between them. She spoke again in that more controlled tone, saying they didn’t expect modern lawmen to understand. She said they would go with them peacefully, that they would face the judgment men considered justice, but that it wouldn’t change the fundamental truth.

 More twins would come, as they always had, because the blood of the guardians ran in more families than anyone imagined, waiting through the generations, until another pair was born, destined to take up the mantle. William Hargrove knew he had to get them out of there before the situation escalated further. He instructed Edmund and the miners to keep watch, while he himself tied the twins hands with ropes.

he had brought. Ruth and Ruby submitted without resistance, maintaining that unsettling calm that seemed to suggest that in their minds they had already somehow won, that the outcome of their capture was irrelevant to the larger picture of centuries of tradition. The journey back through the caves was long and tense.

 The twins guided the group through the passages with an efficiency that made it obvious how much they knew about this subterranean labyrinth. They pointed out loose rocks, warned of low ceilings, and indicated the safest path through the rock formations. There was something almost ironic about it. The prisoners helping their capttors navigate their own sanctuary.

 When they finally emerged from the cave into the daylight, the sun was already low on the horizon, painting the sky with hues of orange and red that made the mountains appear to be on fire. The contrast between the damp darkness of the depths and the fresh air outside was so intense that it took everyone a moment to adjust their eyes and lungs.

 Ruth and Ruby remained silent, gazing at the surrounding mountains, as if bidding farewell to something much greater thanthemselves. The two deputies, who had been guarding the cave entrance, were shocked to see the sheriff emerge with the twins tied up. William instructed them to set up camp there, as it was already too late to begin the long trek back to town.

 They lit fires, distributed the food they had brought, and established watch shifts for the night. The twins were placed together, still tied up, but they were given blankets and food rations equal to those of the men. During the night, while most slept, and only one deputy kept watch, William lay awake, watching Ruth and Ruby.

 They lay side by side, so close they seemed a single form beneath the blankets, whispering to each other in a conversation he couldn’t hear. There was something deeply human about that moment. Two sisters comforting each other in the face of an uncertain future. And it made the sheriff question for the first time whether the justice he was about to administer was truly as clear-cut as he had initially believed.

But then he remembered the bodies in the burial chamber, the diaries that described death after death over the decades, the families who never knew what had become of their loved ones. No matter how much the twins believed they were fulfilling some sacred purpose, no matter how genuine their conviction, the end result was suffering and death, and that William concluded could not be tolerated, no matter how ancient the tradition or how sincere the belief.

 The next morning brought a dense fog that covered the mountains like a white shroud, reducing visibility to just a few meters. The group prepared for the long trek back to civilization, packing their gear and ensuring the twins were safe, but not too uncomfortable for the journey. Ruth and Ruby accepted it all with the same calm resignation, as if they were participating in an inevitable ritual, whose outcome was already written in the very stones of the mountains.

 As they descended the steep trails, Edmund Price remained constantly alert. He knew these mountains better than anyone in the group, except perhaps the twins themselves, and knew there were countless places where an ambush could occur. Not that he expected Ruth and Ruby to have accompllices, but there was something about their calm that made him uneasy, a sense that events were unfolding according to some plan he couldn’t quite grasp.

 The trek took two full days. They spent the second night in a clearing near a stream, where the sound of running water created a constant melody that both soothed and disturbed. The twins remained inseparable, sitting together even when eating or when allowed to attend to personal needs under discrete supervision.

 William noticed that they barely spoke anymore, communicating mostly through glances and small gestures that demonstrated a connection beyond what ordinary sisters shared. When they finally arrived in the town of Welch, the county seat of Mcdow County, they caused an immediate commotion. News traveled slowly in those mountains, but rumors about the twins and their disappearances had circulated for years.

Seeing Ruth and Ruby being led away bound by Sheriff Hargrove confirmed suspicions many had, but few dared voice. Residents gathered in the streets, some with expressions of vengeful satisfaction, others with morbid curiosity, and a few with something that resembled pity or even fear.

 The sheriff took the twins directly to the small police station, a brick building that also served as a courthouse in city hall. There were only three cells, and he placed Ruth and Ruby together in the largest one, knowing that separating them would be not only cruel, but probably futile given the mental state they both seemed to share.

He assigned guards to keep constant watch over them, instructing that no visitors would be allowed until he could properly organize the upcoming legal proceedings. The following days were a whirlwind of activity. William Hargrove spent hours reviewing all the evidence collected, cataloging the diaries, listing the names of identifiable victims, and preparing the case he would present to the district attorney.

 Edmund Price and the miners who had accompanied the expedition were interviewed extensively. their statements recorded by a scribe who struggled to keep up with the writing as he listened to tales of underground chambers, macabra altars, and ancestral traditions that sounded like nightmares.

 The county prosecutor, a man named Howard Mitchell, arrived from Charleston after receiving urgent telegrams about the case. Howard was known for his methodical approach and for never taking a case to trial without thorough preparation. When he saw the extent of the evidence gathered by Sheriff Harrove, his normally impassive face showed genuine shock.

 This was undoubtedly the most extraordinary case he had ever seen in his 20-year career. Howard spent two full weeks examining every aspect of the case, interviewing witnesses, consulting with experts onthe authenticity of the ancient diaries, and even bringing in an anthropologist from a university in Charleston to evaluate the claims about indigenous traditions and ancestral pacts.

 The anthropologist, a middle-aged professor named Dr. Samuel Hwitt, was fascinated by the findings, but also cautious, explaining that while there was historical precedent for ritualistic practices in various cultures, nothing justified homicide in modern society. Throughout this time, Ruth and Ruby remained in their cell, receiving three meals a day and proper treatment, but maintaining near silence.

 They responded when directly questioned, but their responses were minimal, devoid of emotion. Guards reported that they would spend hours simply sitting side by side, holding hands, staring out the small cell window that offered a distant view of the mountains that had been their domain. A disturbing incident occurred in the third week of detention.

 One of the night guards, a young man named Peter Walsh, suddenly fell ill during his shift. He began experiencing high fevers and delirium, speaking incoherently about voices calling from the mountains, broken promises, and imbalances that needed correcting. The local doctor was unable to identify the cause of the illness, which disappeared as abruptly as it had appeared after 3 days.

 Peter refused to continue working as a guard at the police station, claiming he could no longer enter the building without feeling inexplicable fear. Rumors began to circulate among the town’s more superstitious residents. They said the twins possessed powers beyond common comprehension, that they could curse those who kept them imprisoned, that the mountains themselves were angry at the breaking of ancient traditions.

 Sheriff Hargrove did his best to debunk such rumors. But in communities where folklore and superstition still held considerable sway, his rational words met with resistance. The trial was scheduled for early November 1933. Howard Mitchell decided to pursue first-degree murder charges in at least five cases where the evidence was more solid.

 Thomas Whitmore, Marcus Peton, and three other travelers whose belongings were positively identified among the objects found in the caves. For the other older cases where identification was more difficult and the evidence was circumstantial, he planned separate trials if he secured convictions in the first.

 Finding an impartial jury proved extremely difficult. Nearly everyone in the county had heard some version of the rumors about the twins, and many had formed opinions even before hearing the formal evidence. The judge overseeing the case, a veteran named Thaddius Blackwood, ended up summoning judges from neighboring counties, men who had less emotional connection to the events and could theoretically judge based solely on the facts presented.

 The first day of the trial drew a crowd that completely filled the small courtroom and spilled onto the streets outside. Journalists came from as far away as Charleston and even from other states, fascinated by the case that blended violent crimes with elements of folklore and ancestral traditions. When Ruth and Ruby were brought into the courtroom, a complete hush fell over the crowd.

 The twins wore simple but clean dresses provided by the county, and their expressions remained serene and distant. Prosecutor Mitchell meticulously presented his case over 3 days. He showed the diaries, read excerpts documenting disappearances, presented personal items recovered from the caves, and called witnesses who identified these items as belonging to people who had disappeared.

 Edmund Price testified about seeing the twins with Thomas Whitmore shortly before their disappearance. The miners described the discovery of the burial chamber and the ritually arranged human remains. The twins defense was taken over by a court-appointed attorney named Charles Donovan, who typically handled property disputes and minor civil cases.

 Charles was clearly out of his depth, but he did the best he could with an impossible situation. He argued that the evidence was all circumstantial, that no one had actually seen the twins commit any violent acts, and that the bodies found in the caves could have gotten there by other means.

 But Charles’s strategy fell apart when prosecutor Mitchell asked if he would call the defendants themselves to testify. They had the right to remain silent, but if they chose to speak, they would have to answer under oath. Charles consulted with Ruth and Ruby during a recess, and when he returned, he announced that yes, they would testify.

The courtroom erupted in excited murmurss, which Judge Blackwood had to silence with several bangs of his gavvel. Ruth was the first to take the witness stand. She walked with a quiet grace that seemed oddly out of place in the somber courtroom, sat with her hands folded in her lap, and fixed her gaze directly on prosecutor Mitchell as he approached.

 There was something in thatlook that made even the seasoned man hesitate for a brief moment before beginning his cross-examination. The room was so silent that the sound of a fly hitting the window seemed deafening. Mitchell began with basic questions, establishing identity and residence, laying a foundation before moving on to more substantive questions. Ruth answered clearly and firmly without showing nervousness or evasion.

 When he finally asked her directly if she knew Thomas Whitmore, she answered without hesitation. Yes, she had. Yes, she and her sister had spoken with him on the trail near Ravenrock. Yes, they had invited him to accompany them to a special place in the mountains. The directness of their answers took the prosecutor by surprise.

 He expected denials, evasions, perhaps even defiant silence. Instead, Ruth confirmed every fact with disconcerting honesty. Mitchell asked what had happened after Thomas agreed to accompany them. Ruth explained in the same calm, emotionless voice that they had led him along trails known only to the Guardians until they reached the cave entrance on Pinnacle Mountain.

 She described how they entered the darkness of the depths, how she showed Thomas the natural wonders of the underground chambers, the stone formations that took millennia to form. She said he was amazed, jotting notes in a small notebook he carried, asking questions about the geology of the place. And then when they reached the chamber beyond the underground river, when he saw the stone structure and the remains arranged there, his expression changed from wonder to horror.

 Ruth said Thomas tried to escape, but the passages were confusing to those unfamiliar with them, and in the near total darkness, he quickly became lost. She and Ruby followed him, not in a hurry, but with the patience of those who know every detour, every dead end. Eventually, he found himself cornered in a narrow passage with nowhere to go.

 “It was there,” Ruth said in that eerily calm voice, that the pact was fulfilled. She didn’t go into graphic detail, didn’t describe the violence of the act itself, but made it clear that it was quick and that Thomas didn’t suffer unnecessarily. The courtroom was in utter shock. Murmurs spread like waves, and Judge Blackwood had to bang his gavvel repeatedly to restore order.

 Prosecutor Mitchell, recovering from his own surprise, pressed for more details. Why Thomas specifically? What marked him as someone the mountain had claimed? Ruth explained that it was something she and Ruby felt, a realization that couldn’t easily be translated into words ordinary people would understand.

 She spoke of how certain people emanated a specific resonance, as if their own souls were calling to the depths of the earth. She said these people were caught between two worlds, not entirely belonging to the noisy, chaotic surface of modern civilization, but rather destined to become a permanent part of the ancient mountains.

 The Guardians role was to recognize these souls and help them complete their journey, even if the people themselves did not understand their destiny. Mitchell then asked about the others, about Marcus Peton and the others. Ruth confirmed each case the prosecutor mentioned, giving enough detail to leave no doubt about her direct involvement.

 She spoke of each victim with a strange kind of reverence, as if describing willing participants in sacred ceremonies rather than people who were tricked and killed. When Mitchell finally finished his cross-examination, seeming almost exhausted by the surreal intensity of the testimony, it was the defense attorney’s turn to try to mitigate the damage.

 Charles Donovan approached the witness stand with visible reluctance. He attempted to establish that Ruth had been indoctrinated since childhood, that she genuinely believed she was fulfilling a sacred duty, and therefore could not be held fully responsible for her actions. Ruth listened to his questions patiently, but her answers did not help the defense.

 She made it clear that she fully understood that her actions were considered crimes by human law, but that there were older, more fundamental laws she chose to obey. When Charles asked if she felt remorse for the deaths, Ruth finally showed some emotion other than that distant serenity. She looked directly at the jury, and her eyes shone with something that could be interpreted as sadness or perhaps frustration.

 She said she felt sadness at the necessity of what she did, that each life taken to the depths weighed heavily on her and her sister, but remorse in the sense of believing her actions were wrong. No, she believed she had done exactly what needed to be done. Ruby testified next, and her answers echoed her sisters almost perfectly.

 It was like hearing the same voice tell the same story with only slight variations in emphasis or detail. She confirmed everything Ruth had said, added a few observations of her own about the history of the guardians and the antiquity of the pact,and maintained that same preternatural calm that seemed to defy the very gravity of the situation.

 When the prosecutor tried to draw her into expressions of emotion or remorse, she simply replied that ordinary human emotions did not apply to responsibilities that transcended the individual. The twins testimony sealed their fate in a way no physical evidence could have. They had confessed completely without coercion, without attempting to minimize or deny their actions.

 The jury received instructions from Judge Blackwood on how to consider the evidence, on the legal definition of sanity and criminal responsibility, and on how religious or spiritual beliefs were not a valid defense to murder. The jury’s deliberations lasted less than 4 hours. When they returned to the courtroom that cold November afternoon, their faces bore the weight of the decision they had made.

 The speaker, a middle-aged farmer from a neighboring county, stood and in a firm but not triumphant voice announced the verdict. Guilty of first-degree murder in all five cases. The crowd in the courtroom erupted in mixed reactions, some applauding, others in shocked silence, and a few weeping for reasons perhaps even they themselves didn’t fully understand.

 Ruth and Ruby received the verdict without any visible reaction. They sat side by side, holding hands, looking not at the jury or the judge, but at the distant window where the Appalachian Mountains rose against the gray autumn sky. Judge Blackwood scheduled sentencing for the following week, allowing time to prepare the appropriate documents and consider mitigating circumstances, if any.

 During that week of waiting, something strange began to happen in the region. Reports came from various mountain communities about unusual phenomena. Animals behaving erratically, birds flying in chaotic patterns, and most disturbingly people reporting vivid dreams about the mountains calling to them, about ancient voices echoing deep within the earth.

Sheriff Harrove dismissed it all as mass hysteria, the predictable result of such a sensational case capturing the public imagination. But Edmund Price wasn’t so sure. He’d spent his entire life in these mountains and knew their rhythms, their seasons, their moods, if such terms could be applied to geological formations.

 There was something different in the air, a tension he sensed, but couldn’t quantify or rationally explain. He visited the sheriff the night before sentencing, expressing his concerns. But William was firm in his conviction that the law would prevail over superstition and folklore. On the day of the sentencing, the courtroom was even more packed than before.

 Judge Blackwood entered with a grave expression, bearing the weight of a decision he knew would be remembered for generations. He began by speaking about the nature of justice, about how civilized societies should be based on written laws and not on tribal traditions or mystical beliefs. He acknowledged that the defendants genuinely believed in their convictions, but emphasized that sincerity of belief did not absolve criminal responsibility.

Judge Blackwood adjusted his glasses and began reading the sentence in a solemn voice that echoed off the wooden walls of the courtroom. He detailed each of the five murder cases, recapping the evidence, the testimonies, and the defendant’s own confessions. His voice carried not only legal authority, but also an underlying sadness, as if he himself recognized that this case transcended the normal categories of crime and punishment he had dealt with during his 25 years in the judiciary.

The sentence was death penalty, execution by hanging as established by West Virginia law for firstdegree murder. The date was set for December 15th, 1933, approximately 1 month after the verdict, enough time for automatic appeals and final legal proceedings. When the judge banged the gavl, closing the session, Ruth and Ruby finally showed a reaction that went beyond their distant serenity.

 They turned to each other, embraced with desperate intensity, and for the first time since their capture, tears ran silently down their identical faces. Sheriff Hargrove escorted them back to their cell, and for the first time, he felt a pang of something that could be described as doubt or perhaps compassion. They were young women, only 18 years old, and despite the terrible crimes they had committed.

 There was something profoundly tragic about the entire situation. They had not chosen to be born twins into a family that carried on this macabb tradition. From the first moment of consciousness, they were shaped and directed toward a path that would inevitably lead to this outcome. Over the following weeks, legal appeals were attempted.

 Defense attorney Charles Donovan filed motions arguing temporary insanity, indoctrination from childhood, and even claims that prosecuting murders so ancient violated certain legal principles. But each appeal was consistently denied. The twinsconfessions were too clear, their understanding of the nature of their actions too evident, and the physical evidence too overwhelming to allow for any legal ambiguity.

 Religious groups from various denominations spoke out, some asking for clemency based on Christian principles of forgiveness and redemption, others demanding that the sentence be carried out as an example against pagan practices and violation of divine commandments. The case of Ruth and Ruby had transcended the borders of Mcdow County and become a topic of national debate with newspapers in cities as far away as New York and San Francisco publishing speculative articles about ancestral traditions, mountain cults, and the limits of

individual responsibility versus cultural conditioning. Dr. Samuel Huitt, the anthropologist who had consulted on the case, published an academic paper analyzing the cultural and historical elements of the guardian tradition. He drew parallels with practices from various Native American cultures, explored concepts of sacred places and spiritual territories, and argued that while the twins actions were arguably criminal by modern standards, they also represented a rare phenomenon of cultural continuity spanning centuries

of dramatic social change. His paper generated controversy in academic circles with some colleagues accusing him of romanticizing homicidal behavior. Inside the cell, Ruth and Ruby spent their final days in contemplative stillness. They were allowed paper and ink, and they wrote extensively documenting not only their own experiences, but also everything they remembered of the teachings passed down from their mother and grandmother.

 These writings would eventually be confiscated as evidence and filed in the county records where they would remain sealed for decades, accessible only to authorized researchers. The twins mother, a woman in her 40s named Sarah, visited her daughters only once. The visit was supervised by guards and limited to 30 minutes.

 Witnesses reported that Sarah cried uncontrollably throughout the visit, hugging her daughters through the cell bars, whispering words no one else could hear. When she emerged, she appeared to have aged 10 years in half an hour. Her face etched with anguish that went beyond simple maternal loss. She died 3 months later, some say of a broken heart, though the medical certificate listed pneumonia as the official cause.

 The twin’s father, the minor who had worked deep underground his entire adult life, never came to visit them. He left McDow County immediately after the verdict, moving to another state where no one knew his story. Some said he had always known about the guardian tradition, but chose to ignore it, hoping it would simply disappear if not recognized.

Others claimed he genuinely knew nothing, that Sarah had kept the ancestral secrets hidden until her daughters were old enough to be initiated. Edmund Price visited the twins the week before their execution. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to do so, perhaps seeking some kind of closure, some final understanding that could make sense of everything he’d witnessed.

 Ruth and Ruby welcomed him with that uncanny courtesy that characterized all their interactions, as if they were hosts receiving a guest under perfectly normal circumstances. Edmund asked them if they were afraid of their approaching deaths. Ruby replied that they didn’t fear the end of their physical lives, that in fact there was a kind of relief in knowing they would soon be reunited with all the guardians who came before, that their souls would return to the mountains they had always loved.

 Ruth added something that sent a chill down Edmund’s spine. She said that other twins had already been born somewhere in those mountains, perhaps still babies, perhaps not yet aware of their fate, but that the guardian’s blood was patient and inevitable. Sheriff Hargrove spent the last few nights before the execution, reviewing all the case files, searching for anything he might have missed, any clues that might lead to others involved or more unidentified victims.

 He found mention in the older journals of a location called the first sanctuary, distinct from the chambers they had explored, described as the place where the original pact was sealed. But there was no clear indication of where this place was. And with Ruth and Ruby about to be executed, knowledge of that location would die with them.

 The night before the execution, a massive storm hit the Appalachian Mountains. Howling winds ripped branches from the trees. Thunder echoed between the peaks like ancient war drums, and lightning lit up the sky in spectacular displays some older residents said they hadn’t seen in 50 years.

 The police station lost power, forcing the use of oil lanterns that cast dancing shadows on the walls, giving the building an atmosphere more suited to the 19th century than the modern year of 1933. Ruth and Ruby spent that last night awake, sitting side byside on the narrow bed in their cell, quietly singing a song no one recognized.

 The words weren’t in English, perhaps not even in any language still spoken, but the melody had a hypnotic, melancholic quality that filled the guards with an inexplicable sadness. One of them, a religious man named Thomas Green, would later swear that during that chant, he briefly saw the walls of the police station disappear, replaced by visions of ancient mountains beneath dimmed stars.

When dawn finally arrived, the storm had passed, leaving behind a sky so clear and impossibly blue, and air so crystal clear that the distant mountains seemed only steps away. December 15th, 1933, dawned cold and silent, as if even the birds knew something significant was about to happen. The execution was scheduled for 10:00 in the morning in the courtyard behind the courthouse, where a wooden platform had been built specifically for that purpose.

 A crowd began gathering in the early morning hours. people coming from all corners of McDow County and beyond. Some driven by morbid curiosity, others by a sense of justice finally being served, and a few for reasons even they themselves couldn’t fully articulate. Sheriff Harrove had organized a security cordon around the execution platform, deputies positioned to maintain order and prevent any attempts at interference, though no one really expected anyone to try to rescue the condemned women.

 Ruth and Ruby were brought from their cell at 9:45 in the morning. They wore simple gray cotton dresses provided by the county, and their identical hair was braided to their shoulders. Their hands were tied in front of them, but they walked with dignity and without resistance. Their faces as serene as they had been since their capture.

 When they emerged into the courtyard and saw the wooden platform with its two ropes swaying gently in the cool morning breeze, they showed no visible fear, only the calm resignation that had become their hallmark. The local reverend, a man named Joshua Winters, approached them, offering final prayers and the possibility of confession and repentance before God.

 Ruth and Ruby listened politely. But when he finished, Ruby said softly but firmly that they had already offered their own prayers to the powers they recognized, that their spirits were at peace with what was about to happen, and that they sought no forgiveness from any god introduced by European colonizers.

 The reverend stepped back, visibly disturbed, making the sign of the cross repeatedly as if to ward off evil influences. The executioner was a man brought from Charleston, someone with no connections to the local community, trained in the proper procedure to ensure a quick death and minimize suffering. He checked the ropes, adjusted the knots, and prepared the black hoods that would be placed over the condemned women’s heads.

 His movements were mechanical, professional, devoid of personal emotion. It was just a job for him, another execution in a career of countless others. though he would later admit to colleagues that there was something different about this one, something that would haunt him for years.

 At 10:00 sharp, Judge Blackwood read the final sentence aloud to the assembled crowd. He detailed the crimes, reiterated the jury’s verdict, and confirmed that all legal remedies had been exhausted. Then, following established protocol, he asked the condemned women if they had any final words. There was a moment of heavy silence, only the sound of the wind rustling through the nearby trees and the nervous rustling of the crowd.

 Ruth stepped forward as far as her bound legs would allow. She looked not at the judge or the crowd, but at the distant mountains rising on the horizon, their peaks still snow capped from the approaching winter. Her voice, when she spoke, was clear, and carried through the silent courtyard with an almost musical quality.

 She said that the mountains were eternal, that civilizations would rise and fall, that laws written by men would be forgotten like dust in the wind, but that the stones themselves would remember. She said that other guardians would come because they always had, because the pact was older than memory and deeper than death.

 Ruby then spoke, her voice perfectly echoing her sisters, as if they were a single voice split between two bodies. She said they held no grudge against those who judged and sentenced them, that they understood that each followed their own truths. But she also warned that removing the guardians without understanding their purpose would be like ripping a cornerstone from an arch, and that eventually the structure they supported would begin to crumble in ways no one could foresee.

Her words had a prophetic quality that made many in the crowd shift uncomfortably. Then, in a gesture no one expected, the two sisters began to sing. It was the same song they had sung during the stormy night, that melody in an unknown language that seemed ancientbeyond all historical measure. Their voices intertwined perfectly, creating harmonies that made the skin crawl and the eyes water for no apparent reason.

The singing continued as the executioner placed the black hoods over their heads, adjusted the ropes around their necks, and checked every detail one last time. Sheriff Hargrove watched from his position beside the platform, his face a carefully controlled mask that hid the maelstrom of conflicting emotions swirling within him.

 He had devoted months to this case, pursuing these women through treacherous caves, gathering irrefutable evidence of their crimes. He believed in justice in the law in the need for a civilized society to punish those who kill. But as he watched these two young women about to die, he couldn’t help but wonder if something fundamental was being lost.

some knowledge or understanding that modern humanity simply no longer had the capacity to process. The executioner positioned his hand on the lever that would release the trap doors beneath the condemned women’s feet. He waited for Judge Blackwood’s signal, which came in the form of a solemn nod. The twins chanting reached a crescendo, their voices rising in unison to a high sustained note that seemed to vibrate the air itself, and then the lever was pulled.

 The trap doors opened with a creaking sound, and Ruth and Ruby fell simultaneously. The silence that followed was absolute and suffocating. The crowd held its collective breath, watching the bodies slowly sway, the final movements gradually ceasing. The official doctor ascended the platform after 5 minutes, verified the absence of pulses in both women, and declared the executions complete at 7 minutes 10.

 But even as he made his official pronouncement, many in the crowd later swore they heard something, a distant echo of that chant continuing, coming from the surrounding mountains, as if the stones themselves had learned the melody and refused to let it die. The bodies were removed and buried in a discrete corner of the county cemetery with no markers or elaborate headstones, just two simple wooden crosses bearing names and dates.

 Officials decided it was best not to create any kind of memorial that might become a focus of pilgrimage or veneration. But this precaution proved futile because within weeks people began reporting seeing wild flowers growing over the graves, varieties that were not native to the area and that no one admitted to having planted.

 Sheriff Harrove remained in his position for another 12 years, retiring in 1945 after the end of World War II. He never spoke publicly about the twins case after their execution, refusing to give interviews to interested journalists or researchers. But Edmund Price, who remained a close friend until the end, recounted that William would occasionally returned to the pinnacle caves alone, perhaps seeking some kind of understanding or closure that legal justice could never provide.

 Edmund himself continued hunting and exploring those mountains well into old age, but he never again entered that particular cave system where the twins kept their sacred chambers. He claimed the place had changed somehow, that there was a quality in the air around the entrance that made even a man without superstitions feel like he was trespassing.

 Other hunters and explorers reported similar feelings, and gradually that area of Mount Pinnacle became unofficially offlimits, a place locals simply avoided without the need for signs or physical barriers. In the years that followed, occasional rumors surfaced of new disappearances in the Appalachian Mountains, travelers who hit the trails and were never seen again.

Some of these cases had mundane explanations, genuine accidents, people who got lost and succumbed to the elements, even some who simply decided to disappear and start new lives elsewhere. But some cases remained unexplained, exhibiting familiar patterns that made older people who remembered the twins wonder if Ruth and Ruby were right, if other guardians had truly emerged to carry on the ancient tradition.

 The diaries and other artifacts collected from the caves were sealed in the county archives, accessible only with specific judicial authorization. Decades later, when they were finally opened for academic research in the 1980s, they generated renewed interest from anthropologists, historians, and folklorists, fascinated by the unique blend of indigenous traditions, colonial beliefs, and geographic isolation that produced this extraordinary family cult.

 But many questions remained unanswered because critical knowledge died with Ruth and Ruby on that cold December day. The Appalachian Mountains continue to rise as they always have, indifferent to the petty human dramas unfolding on their slopes. Their caves still hide secrets in depths never fully explored. Their forests still whisper stories in languages few living can understand.

 And on silent nights when the wind blowsfrom a certain direction, people living in the communities surrounding Mount Pinnacle sometimes report hearing something that sounds like distant singing. Two identical voices intertwined in an ancient melody that makes the heart ache with longing for something they never knew they had lost.

The story of Ruth and Ruby, the Appalachian twins, too evil for history books to fully tell, remains a disturbing reminder that there are more layers to the human experience than our comfortable modern categories of right and wrong can capture. They were murderers. That much is undeniable. But they were also the last guardians of a tradition that stretched back centuries, practitioners of beliefs that made sense to countless generations before them.

Justice was served according to the law of men. But whether this brought true closure or simply buried uncomfortable questions we’d rather not examine remains open to debate to this day. If this journey through one of the darkest and most disturbing cases in the West Virginia mountains resonated with you, if you find yourself pondering the complexities of tradition, justice, and the secrets the land holds, then consider subscribing to this channel.

There are many more stories waiting to be told. mysteries buried in time that deserve to be examined through careful investigation and respect for human complexity. Leave a like if this account provoked reflections that go beyond mere entertainment and comment sharing your own perspectives on where the line should be drawn between respecting ancestral traditions and upholding modern standards of justice.

 Until next time, delve into the shadows of