The Hiller Hammer
March 15, 1975
“The Dun Maylock: Anarchy or Atrocity?”

By Jamie Thorn

Man, I’ve gotta tell you—this town has a way of holding onto its ghosts, doesn’t it? And there’s no specter more persistent than the Dun Maylock. But let’s set the record straight, shall we? These so-called boogeymen, whose bloody handprints have spooked Fulton County for decades, weren’t born out of murder and mayhem. No, they were pranksters. Mischievous, yes. Dangerous? Hardly.

Here’s what I think: the Dun Maylock’s symbol—those creepy handprints—got hijacked, twisted by real killers and corrupt officials who wanted a convenient scapegoat. Quary Collapse of 1973, anyone? Just a couple years ago and we’re still using the boogeymen to hide the inconvenient (and perhaps legal-action-worthy) truths. Let me break it down for you.

The Original Dun Maylock: Rebels with a Cause

Look back at the 1800s, when the Dun Maylock first left their mark. These weren’t shadowy figures plotting in the woods—they were pranksters, anarchists, even artists, challenging the power structures of their time. The handprint wasn’t a threat; it was a statement.

Take the infamous Library Book Swap of 1887. Rearranging books to spell cryptic phrases? Sure, it sounds spooky now, but it’s really a genius critique of authority. Or the time they dismantled the Crystal Falls mill wheel and rebuilt it inside the mill itself. That’s not murder—that’s satire, folks.

These were people pushing back against a system that didn’t serve them. They weren’t killers; they were messengers.

The Hijacking of the Symbol

Somewhere along the line, things changed. Suddenly, that handprint started showing up at crime scenes, and the Dun Maylock’s reputation shifted from rebellious pranksters to ruthless killers. But here’s the rub—what if those murders weren’t their doing at all?

Think about it. A wealthy philanthropist like Thomas Cooley turns up dead, and the handprint conveniently appears on his door. But who benefits from his death? The Dun Maylock? Or the same powerful elites he was disrupting?

It’s easy to blame the Dun Maylock when you want to cover your tracks. Their symbol became a smokescreen, a way for corrupt politicians and businessmen to deflect blame while silencing their enemies.

A Legacy of Fear, Not Fact

Fast forward to today, and we still blame the Dun Maylock for every strange occurrence and unsolved crime in Fulton County. But isn’t that just lazy thinking? It’s easier to point to a shadowy group than to dig into the truth.

Do you really believe a group of anarchists would kill indiscriminately? Or does it make more sense that someone else used their symbol to stir up fear and avoid scrutiny?

What Now?

Look, I’m not saying the Dun Maylock were saints. They were a thorn in the side of authority, sure. But murderers? That’s not the group I’ve come to understand from the history books.

So, here’s my challenge to you, Fulton County: next time you hear a spooky tale about the Dun Maylock, stop and ask yourself—who benefits from keeping that fear alive? Maybe the real mystery isn’t who they were, but who wanted them gone.

Because if you ask me, the Dun Maylock didn’t disappear. They were erased.