The Fulton Scribe
Date: June 9, 2022
Headline: “The Dun Maylock: A Legacy of Nothing”
From the archives. Contributor: Spence Hutchins, Curator of the Fulton Hills Historical Society.
Ah, the Dun Maylock. Everyone is suddenly in an uproar and why? Because some basement dwelling blogger decides to tap away at his desk after too much “research” and share some “new” theories that have been circulating since the movie, The Net premiered.
These damned mythical boogeyman of Fulton County. Ask anyone in town, and they’ll spin you a yarn about shadowy figures orchestrating pranks, leaving bloody handprints, and whispering cryptic threats in the night. It’s all very dramatic—perfect fodder for those inclined to see patterns in shadows and menace where there’s only mischief. But allow me, your ever-faithful cynic, to lay this nonsense bare: the Dun Maylock is nothing more than a label slapped on by drunkards and perpetuated by fools.
The Origins: A Drunk Scot and His Woolly Audience
The story goes that the “Dun Maylock” name first surfaced in the late 1700s, attributed to a rambling old Scotsman—likely a shepherd who had sampled too much of his own whisky stash. This shepherd, faced with a series of pranks (probably executed by bored teenagers who realized they could rearrange haystacks and spook gullible farmers), declared the culprits “Dun Maylock.” Maybe he meant “dark mischief” or “fortified pranksters.” Or maybe he just slurred out some gibberish after one too many drinks.
But instead of dismissing the old drunk, the locals latched onto the phrase like a dog with a bone. A label was born. And with it, a convenient excuse for every unexplained oddity or tragedy for the next 250 years.
Explaining Away the “Evidence”
Let’s dissect a few of the more famous incidents attributed to this so-called “cult” of pranksters and murderers, shall we?
The Bloody Handprint on Bellamy’s Mailbox
A staple in the Dun Maylock legend, the bloody handprint is apparently their calling card. In the 1924 Bellamy incident, a wealthy landowner received a coded message and was later found drowned. The handprint? Likely an embellishment by terrified neighbors… or someone planting the seed so that the oak falling down the line would be of no surprise.
As for the code? Business rivals, not pranksters, likely sent it. And Bellamy’s death? Was it murder? Yeah, but a shadowy, mysterious cult? No. He wasn’t liked and it only takes a season of ‘Forensic Files’ to see how easily our species turns to permanent solutions to temporary problems – especially when it comes to finances.
The Librarian’s “Haunted Stacks”
In the 1880s, Fulton’s librarian claimed books were rearranged in the dead of night by the Dun Maylock, with ominous notes hidden among the volumes. Attendance at the library tripled after the story spread. Coincidence? Hardly. If you ask me, the librarian, tired of empty reading rooms, decided to stage her own mystery. Nothing brings readers like the promise of danger—or the hope of finding a note with their name in it.
The Phantom Postman of the 1920s
Ah, yes, the prankster mail carrier who delivered cryptic packages with fake coupons for free livestock and buttons. Buttons, people.
The only thing mysterious about this is how slow the real mailman was at catching up to his route. Farmers blamed the Dun Maylock for the chaos, but let’s not forget that the mid-20s were filled with kids “giving the business” to adults, flappers, and prohibition-fueled drunks, more than a little inebriated from ultra-strong rotgut. Those “messages” were either a teens prank or penned by someone with a sense of humor and a few drinks in their system.
The “Murder in the Orchard” of 1803
A farmhand found dead beneath an apple tree with the Dun Maylock’s alleged mark nearby. Local gossip swore it was a ritual killing. More likely, it was the farmhand himself, drunk on hard cider and falling victim to gravity and a low-hanging branch. The bloody handprint? A trick of the light on a rotting apple.
A Convenient Myth for Lazy Police Work
I could go on and fill a book. What truly allowed the Dun Maylock myth to flourish wasn’t their ingenuity—it was the ineptitude of local law enforcement. A bloody handprint is apparently all it takes to send the constabulary running for their fainting couches instead of investigating. Every unsolved crime, every misplaced cow, every eerie coincidence became the work of the “Dun Maylock.” Because why work for answers when you can blame an invisible boogeyman?
The Modern Dun Maylock: A Laughable Legacy
Fast-forward to today, and the Dun Maylock is still whispered about, though mostly by those who’d rather avoid critical thought. Every so often, someone claims a new “handprint” sighting or a “cryptic note,” and the legend stirs to life again. And why not? It’s an easy way to deflect blame, spark intrigue, and sell a few ghost tours.
The truth is, the Dun Maylock isn’t a “cult” or even a group. It’s a crutch for a town that loves its mysteries more than its facts. A drunk Scotsman, a few pranksters, odd murders, and centuries of superstition—that’s all it takes to create a legend.
So, let’s call it what it is: nothing. A legacy of nothing, built on the shoulders of sheep and sustained by the idle imaginations of generations too afraid to admit that sometimes, things just happen.
Huxley Drake
Staff Writer, The Fulton Scribe