In late 1953, residents of a remote West Virginia valley began filing complaints about a family living in near-total isolation, describing strange sounds, unsettling behavior, and an unnatural silence surrounding their property. The complaints were dismissed after a single sheriff’s visit, and the case remained buried for years—until an emergency phone call in 1962 led authorities to make a discovery that changed everything. The autumn of 1953 brought an unusual stillness to Crow’s Nest Hollow, a remote valley in West Virginia’s Pocahontas County. Local residents later described the season as eerily quiet.
The first documented complaints about the Mortyn family reached the county sheriff’s office during this period, though the official records remained forgotten in filing cabinets for over a decade. The Mortyn homestead sat at the end of a winding dirt road roughly 8 miles from the nearest paved highway. The property consisted of a weathered two-story farmhouse dating from the 1880s, surrounded by about 40 acres of wild land. Visitors who ventured down the treacherous road invariably commented on the oppressive silence emanating from the property, a quiet that felt unnatural in a region known for abundant wildlife and rushing streams.
Nehemiah Mortyn, the family patriarch, purchased the property in 1934 following his discharge from a state psychiatric facility in Huntington. The circumstances of his institutionalization were never made public, though county files mention a violent incident involving farm equipment and a neighbor’s livestock. His wife, Cordelia, had no previous address listed before their marriage in 1935. The couple’s two grown children, Ambrose and Deline, were both well into their 30s by 1953, yet neither had ever been recorded as leaving the family property for any extended period.
The first official complaint was filed in September 1953 by Garrett Holloway, a mail carrier who had been assigned the route. Holloway reported delivering a certified letter to the property, where he found all the windows covered from the inside with dark fabric or boards despite the bright afternoon. He was met by Ambrose Mortyn, a gaunt man with prematurely gray hair, who wore the same clothes as during previous encounters. What disturbed Holloway most was a rhythmic scratching or scraping sound emanating from within the house, like fingernails being dragged across wood in a deliberate pattern.
When asked about the noise, Ambrose’s expression remained blank as he claimed to hear nothing unusual. The sound continued throughout the exchange, growing louder as if the source was moving closer to the front door. Holloway eventually requested a transfer after only two months of service. A second complaint came in November 1953 from Reverend Cornelius Blackthorne of Pine Ridge Baptist Church, who filed a report describing concerning spiritual matters.
The reverend had received an unsigned letter requesting a visit to perform a “necessary spiritual cleansing,” with detailed directions but no identifying information. Upon arriving, Blackthorne was greeted by an overwhelming stench unlike anything he had encountered: neither decay nor unwashed living conditions, but something resembling wet earth mixed with a metallic, wrong quality. Deline Mortyn answered the door, appearing much older than her mid-30s, with completely white hair and a face so pale it seemed translucent. The reverend noted her eyes had an unusual quality that made him feel she was looking through him rather than at him.
When he explained his purpose, her expression seemed to empty out, as if some essential aspect of her humanity had withdrawn. She claimed no such letter had been sent and that the family required no spiritual guidance. Blackthorne heard the same scratching sounds as the mail carrier, plus what sounded like muffled voices engaged in rhythmic chanting. Deline claimed her father was reading aloud from agricultural journals, an explanation he found unconvincing given the cadence.
As he prepared to leave, he glimpsed a face pressed against an upstairs window that was withdrawn quickly—at an odd angle, as if the person were lying down. Ezra Cunningham, a hunter, filed a third complaint in December 1953 after observing the family from the woods during early morning. Following deer tracks, he heard a low, rhythmic moaning coming from the direction of the Mortyn house that rose and fell in an almost musical but deeply unsettling pattern. During the quiet intervals, even the usual forest sounds seemed absent.
Moving closer, he observed what he initially took to be a scarecrow in a circular garden at the rear of the property, arranged in concentric rings containing ordinary vegetables and herbs in the outer circles, but increasingly unfamiliar exotic plants toward the center. The “scarecrow” was actually an elderly man, apparently Nehemiah Mortyn, standing motionless with his arms raised above his head, engaged in extended vocalization. Ambrose and Deline were positioned at different points within the circular plantings, remaining motionless before moving to new positions according to a predetermined pattern. After nearly 30 minutes, all four family members stopped and faced directly toward Cunningham’s location.
The feeling of being observed was so intense that he abandoned any attempt at concealment and ran through the forest to his truck. Sheriff Coleman Bradshaw, who received all three reports, conducted a brief investigation consisting of a single visit in January 1954. He found the family eccentric but law-abiding, noting no evidence of illegal activities. Nehemiah explained that the family followed traditional practices related to agriculture and spiritual observance that might seem unusual to outsiders but were perfectly legal.
The sheriff noted all four family members appeared in good health, classed the complaints as resolved, and took no further action. In 1961, Nehemiah Mortyn failed to pay property taxes for the first time since 1934. Phone service had been disconnected and mail was returned as undeliverable. Deputy Tax Assessor Margaret Whitmore was dispatched to investigate.
She found the house significantly deteriorated, with peeling paint, boarded windows, a sagging porch, and an overgrown yard. Deline, who answered the door, appeared to have aged decades rather than years, with deeply lined skin, milky eyes suggesting cataracts, and a severely underweight frame. Whitmore observed that many rooms were completely unused, with furniture covered in sheets and dust, and windows now completely boarded from the inside, requiring artificial lighting even at midday. The kitchen contained very little food, primarily preserved goods.
Whitmore heard the same strange scratching sounds, which Deline attributed to settling timbers. The tax assessor also noticed that all interior doors had been fitted with multiple locks on the outside, as if to prevent the rooms from being opened from within. Deline claimed the locks prevented drafts disturbing her father’s rest. Whitmore’s recommendation led to a visit from county health inspector Vernon Dalby in December 1961.
Dalby attempted to enter the property but was initially blocked by Ambrose, who claimed the family was observing a religious retreat. When Dalby explained his authority, Ambrose reluctantly allowed entry. Dalby documented contaminated water, dangerously outdated electrical systems, and evidence of pest infestation concentrated in specific areas, particularly interior walls where the scratching sounds were most audible. He discovered that access panels and maintenance openings had been sealed with homemade cement, which Ambrose attributed to preventing heat loss.
Dalby noticed Ambrose’s increasing agitation, particularly around a door leading to what appeared to be a basement. When Dalby requested access, Ambrose claimed the stairs were unsafe. The door had been secured with an elaborate system of locks and bars, reinforced with metal supports. Dalby discovered a discrepancy between the interior and exterior dimensions of the building, suggesting the basement extended beyond the footprint of the upper floors, implying underground spaces that could not be accessed from within the main house.
When Dalby insisted on meeting Nehemiah and Cordelia, Ambrose led him to a bedroom where the elder Mortyns were supposedly confined. The room had windows completely sealed with boards and fabric, creating total darkness, and the air was thick with an odor combining human waste, rotting organic matter, and something chemical or medicinal. Dalby could see two beds positioned against opposite walls. The figure in the first bed appeared conscious but unresponsive to external stimuli.
The figure in the second bed appeared much smaller than expected for an adult, with no visible sign of breathing or movement. When Dalby requested to examine this individual more closely, Ambrose became extremely agitated, insisting any disturbance could be life-threatening. The scratching sounds were much louder and more constant in this room, seeming to come from directly beneath the floorboards. Dalby completed his inspection documenting numerous code violations.
Based on his recommendations, the county initiated proceedings requiring the family to address serious health violations within 90 days or face forced relocation. However, before legal action could be taken, an emergency call came in on February 14, 1962. A telephone operator reported that someone from the Mortyn property had attempted to place a call but could not communicate clearly. The caller was breathing heavily and the only clearly audible words were “Help us,” repeated several times before the line went dead.
Deputy Sheriff Franklin Morris responded immediately, finding the front door standing open, unprecedented according to all previous reports. The oppressive odor had intensified to the point where it was difficult to breathe without covering his nose and mouth. The house appeared empty. The upstairs bedroom where the elder Mortyns had supposedly been confined was now empty, with the heavily sealed windows opened for the first time in years.
The door to the basement, previously sealed with elaborate locks and bars, now stood open, with the hardware scattered on the floor as if forced off from the inside. Descending the wooden staircase, Morris discovered a basement divided into several chambers. The first contained abandoned living quarters. The second contained a workshop with tools and materials for various construction projects, including concrete mixing equipment and cut lumber.
The third and largest chamber contained the source of the mysterious scratching sounds: walls carved directly from the earth and rock, extending well beyond the foundation. The excavation appeared to have been done by hand over an extended period. The walls were covered with markings in charcoal or possibly dried blood, combining writing and drawing. Disturbingly, the earth floor showed several areas that had been disturbed and refilled, suggesting burial sites.
When later excavated, these areas were found to contain organic matter consistent with human tissue, though too deteriorated for positive identification. Despite extensive efforts by local law enforcement and state investigators, no trace of the four Mortyn family members was ever found. Their fate remained unknown, and the case was classified as a missing person’s investigation that gradually faded from official attention. In 1965, the abandoned property was seized for unpaid taxes and auctioned to a development company planning to demolish the structures and subdivide the land.
Before demolition began, workers uncovered an additional underground chamber that had not been found during the original investigation, accessible only through a carefully concealed entrance built into the natural rock formation. Inside this final chamber, investigators found a detailed journal maintained by multiple family members over nearly 20 years. The earliest entries from the late 1930s described normal family activities. Beginning in the early 1940s, however, the tone changed dramatically.
The family began documenting communications with entities they believed were residing beneath their property, supposedly providing instructions for modifications to the house and the creation of the underground chambers. The entries described rituals and behaviors required to maintain this relationship, including progressive isolation and modification of their living space. The journal explained the covered windows and sealed rooms as necessary for the dark, quiet environment preferred by their underground companions. The unusual garden layout observed by the hunter in 1953 was described as a communication system for receiving guidance about daily activities.
The later entries documented escalating demands beginning in the late 1950s, including offerings of food, personal possessions, and eventually more intimate forms of sacrifice. Failure to comply supposedly resulted in severe consequences. The final entries from early 1962 described a crisis in which the family realized they could no longer meet the demands. The entities had become more insistent and threatening while the family’s physical and mental condition had deteriorated.
The family discussed abandoning the property or seeking outside help but expressed doubt that anyone would believe their story. The last entry, written in handwriting analysts attributed to Deline Mortyn, consisted of a single line: “We understand now what they really wanted from us all along. ”
The hidden chamber also contained photographs showing family members in various stages of their descent into crisis, revealing physical changes consistent with severe malnutrition and psychological stress. There were also unsent letters to relatives and acquaintances containing apologies for their long isolation, warnings about the property, and urgent advice that no one should attempt to continue the family’s work or investigate their disappearance too thoroughly.
These documents prompted a renewed investigation led by state police detective Raymond Halkom, conducted through 1965 and 1966. Halkom’s report filed in 1967 concluded that the family had engaged in activities violating multiple state and federal laws, including desecration of human remains and possibly homicide. However, the investigation could not determine conclusively whether these activities resulted from genuine criminal intent or severe psychological breakdown. Halkom theorized that the family had either fled the area entirely or died somewhere on the property in undiscovered locations.
He noted troubling inconsistencies: the physical evidence suggested activities requiring strength and coordination inconsistent with the severely deteriorated condition of the family in their final years, and the excavation represented enormous physical labor that should have been beyond four increasingly frail individuals. None of the family members had documented background in engineering or construction, yet the underground spaces showed evidence of careful planning and significant expertise in working with stone and earth. Halkom acknowledged these inconsistencies but concluded they were likely explained by the extended timeline and the possibility that the family had received assistance from unknown individuals who shared their beliefs. The property was eventually cleared and developed, with the underground chambers filled and sealed before construction of new homes in 1968.
New residents were not informed about the property’s history. Within the first year, multiple families reported strange sounds coming from beneath their houses, particularly during early morning hours. Several reported basements flooding with muddy water that seeped through concrete floors despite no identifiable source. More troubling were reports of small openings in basement floors, typically only a few inches in diameter, appearing overnight, often accompanied by the same scratching or scraping sounds associated with the original Mortyn property.
County inspectors attributed these to ground settling and water infiltration from incomplete filling of the underground chambers, but repairs were only temporarily successful, with issues reappearing within months. By 1969, three of five families had moved away, selling properties at significant losses. The remaining residents reported worsening problems. A comprehensive study by engineers and geologists in late 1969 revealed the underground chambers were more extensive than anyone realized, with connecting passages extending beyond the original property boundaries.
The team discovered evidence that some underground spaces were still accessible and possibly still in use, including fresh tool marks, recently disturbed earth, and organic matter suggesting recent human presence. Before additional investigation could be conducted, the team’s equipment began experiencing systematic failures. Electronic instruments malfunctioned whenever brought into the underground areas, and lighting equipment failed with unusual frequency. Several team members experienced severe claustrophobia and disorientation, symptoms none had experienced in similar work elsewhere.
After several became ill with headaches, nausea, and temporary hearing loss, the investigation was suspended indefinitely, officially citing air quality and structural instability concerns. In 1970, remaining residents formally petitioned the county to buy back their properties and relocate them. The county agreed, and the properties were abandoned and allowed to deteriorate. The underground chambers were sealed with concrete and metal barriers, and surface areas were fenced off.
Official records classified the area as unsuitable for residential development due to geological instability and subsurface hazards. Local residents continued to report occasional signs of activity around the abandoned site: lights moving through empty houses at night, sounds of machinery during early morning hours, and figures walking among the abandoned buildings. When county officials investigated, they invariably found no evidence of unauthorized access. Detective Halkom never spoke publicly about the case after filing his final report in 1967.
According to colleagues, he remained convinced until his death in 1982 that the full truth had never been discovered. Dr. Patricia Reeves, a forensic psychologist consulted during the investigation, expressed doubts about official conclusions. In a 1975 private letter, she stated that the psychological profile emerging from the family’s writings was inconsistent with typical cases of group delusion or shared psychosis.
The family had demonstrated organizational ability and long-term planning incompatible with the severe mental illness needed to explain their apparent delusions. Their isolation and secretive behavior were more consistent with efforts to conceal illegal activities than with social withdrawal typically associated with shared delusions. In her professional opinion, the family had been engaged in activities they knew were criminal and unacceptable but had successfully hidden for nearly two decades. The abandoned property in Crow’s Nest Hollow remains sealed and empty, gradually being reclaimed by the forest.
The concrete barriers blocking access to the underground chambers are slowly cracking with age and weather, though no one has any intention of removing them. Official records remain archived in county storage facilities, largely forgotten except by occasional researchers. On particularly quiet nights, local residents report hearing faint rhythmic scratching sounds coming from the direction of the old Mortyn property, similar to what visitors reported decades ago when the family was still in residence.