Family Secrets

As humans, we have a built-in mechanism that prevents most of us from committing horrific acts, which once set in motion, can never be reversed. This moral compass, aka our conscience, is nature’s way of keeping us in line. Unfortunately, as we all know, there are those among us who either lack the ability to differentiate between right and wrong, or simply don’t care one way or the other. Such was the case for a heartless killer whose misdeeds quite literally came back to haunt him.

The setting for what would turn out to be a decades’ long mystery was a small farm located along the Oklahoma/Texas border. In 1943, the Johnson family, who had lived on the property for as long as anyone could remember, was dealt a tragic blow when their matriarch Verna and her two eldest sons were killed in a fire that had consumed the barn in a matter of minutes.

Cecil Johnson, who lost half his family in the incident, told authorities that, from what he could gather, his wife and teenage sons had been cleaning the barn when one of the kerosene lamps they were using for light had been knocked over, igniting the hay and turning the ramshackle structure into a tinderbox. He claimed that he had tried to reach them as soon as he realized what was happening, but the flames were already out of control. By the time he was able to fetch help, the barn, and his loved ones, were gone.

The townspeople had rallied around the grieving farmer and his remaining children, eight-year-old son Pat and five-year-old daughter Penny. Since barn fires weren’t unheard of, no one questioned Cecil’s account at the time. Only later, when stories of odd goings-on occurring on the property reached beyond the confines of the Johnson farm, did outsiders begin to wonder if his version of events had any relation to the truth.

Within a month or so of the tragedy, Cecil had collected on a $1000 ($18,200 today) insurance policy he had taken out on Verna the previous year. Though he was sitting in the catbird seat financially, all was not right at the old homestead. It was becoming evident that forces beyond his control were determined to see to it that he never have another moment’s peace until a terrible wrong was made right.

Pat would later share that, even though he hadn’t dared breathe a word of it to anyone at the time, he knew that his father had lied to the sheriff, and everyone else, about what happened on the day his mother and brothers died. It was only after even more misfortune had befallen the family that he was able to reveal the secrets he had been holding onto for most of his childhood.

He recalled that he and Penny had been playing in the corn field on a Saturday afternoon when he saw smoke arising from the barn. He knew that his mom and brothers, John and Raymond, were mucking out the shelter while the cows were in the pasture and wondered what was going on. Upon seeing his father exit the barn, he had hollered that there was smoke coming out of the roof. Instead of going back inside and collecting his family, Cecil had shut the door and latched it from the outside. Storming over to his youngest children, he had snatched them up by the arms and led them into the house. After telling them to stay inside, he had gone back out, where he had remained for what seemed like a very long time to the eight-year-old.

Pat didn’t remember his father making any effort to gain entry to the barn or go for help. He had simply stood in the yard and watched the structure burn to the ground. While he had called the fire brigade in time to prevent the flames from reaching the main dwelling, there had been no sense of urgency on his part.

Not long after the fire, Cecil started roaming around in the middle of the night, something he hadn’t done before. He had also begun crying out in his sleep so loudly that it would wake the rest of the house. Since Pat had been having nightmares about being trapped in a blaze, he had thought maybe his father was experiencing something similar. An unsettling visit from someone he never expected to see again in life would change his mind.

One night, after being awakened yet again by his father carrying on in the next room, Pat looked up to see a figure standing in the doorway. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he found himself looking into the eyes of his brother Raymond.

Although he was wide awake, Pat was sure he was dreaming. As he tried to talk himself out of what he was seeing, Raymond had taken a step forward, revealing a deep gash that started at the top of his head and worked its way down to his chin.

Too frightened to scream, Pat had remained glued to the spot as Raymond knelt down at the side of the bed. In a voice barely above a whisper, he had spoken the words his younger brother would never forget: “Father killed us. He knocked us in the head and watched us burn. He did it. It was him.”

Pat remembered shaking his head and closing his eyes tight as his deceased brother revealed what really happened in the barn. Even though he knew it was true, he didn’t want to hear it. When he finally had the courage to open his eyes, Raymond was gone. He never saw him again.

In the coming months, Pat would listen as his father threw things around his room and yelled at someone to leave him alone. One night, he had heard the front door slam shut. When he peeked out to see what was going on, he saw his father running through the field, shotgun in hand. Not knowing what else to do, he had gone back to bed and tried to fall asleep.

In the morning, the youngster had found his father tooling around the kitchen and muttering to himself like a madman. He hadn’t acknowledged his children or given them a bite to eat. Lost in a torment of his own making, he hadn’t seemed to know he was in the world.

As Cecil’s mental state deteriorated, their maternal grandmother stopped by one day to tell Pat and his sister that she was going to take them to live with her for a while. He had never felt such a sense of relief. Something was wrong at the farm and it was getting steadily worse. Though he hadn’t said it out loud, he had begun to fear that he and Penny might be in danger, not from their dead brothers, but from their father, whose behavior was becoming more unpredictable by the day.

Early on, their grandmother would bring Pat and Penny to the farm to spend time with their father. When it became clear that he couldn’t care less if he saw them or not, she had cut off all communication. A devout woman who had lost her daughter and two of her grandchildren in an instant, she told anyone who would listen that being in Cecil’s presence was like breaking bread with the devil.

In 1945, Cecil Johnson was found dead in his home from an apparent heart attack. His body had lain undetected for several weeks before being discovered by a sheriff’s deputy who had gone to check on him after he failed to pick up some supplies he had ordered from the local general store. Since his partially decomposed remains were found tucked away in bed, it was assumed he had passed from natural causes.

Pat Johnson, who hadn’t seen his father for over a year prior to his death, went on to lead a life to be admired. A career naval officer, he had gone on to marry and raise three happy, healthy children. A devoted family man, he was the opposite of his father in every way. When he passed away after a long battle with cancer in 1997, the procession of mourners had seemed endless.

Pat’s daughter Erin, who was the source of this story, says that he was never really able to come to terms with the events of 1943. She never knew her grandfather, but she trusted her father implicitly. He had gone to his grave believing that his mother and brothers had died by Cecil’s hand, and she doesn’t doubt his memories for a minute. She is convinced, as was her father, that Cecil killed his wife for the insurance money. Raymond and John, who had made it clear that they were leaving as soon as they turned eighteen, were merely collateral damage.

With Raymond’s visit to his room in mind, Pat had pieced together what he believed happened on that fateful day. After luring the three of them into the barn, Cecil had attacked them with a shovel or some other tool he had at the ready. Taken completely by surprise, the boys hadn’t had time to fight back. Verna, who was a tiny wisp of a woman, would have been no match for her husband even on her best day. After knocking them unconscious, he had set the fire and walked away. To make sure they didn’t wake up and try to escape, he had closed the latch, ensuring that they would perish in the flames.

According to Pat, his father had always been abusive, especially to their mother. A foul-tempered sort who would fly off the handle with little or no provocation, Cecil’s behavior had forced his wife and children to walk on egg shells or risk incurring his wrath. Even so, he would always find a reason to lash out, and when he did, Verna, Raymond and John had borne the brunt of his rage.

That Raymond had been the one to drive his father to the brink of insanity was no surprise. As hard-nosed as Cecil, with whom he had butted heads since childhood, he had been his mother’s biggest protector, often taking beatings meant for her. Though Erin never met her Uncle Raymond, she could tell by how fondly her father had spoken of him that he was the one everyone, except for Cecil, looked up to.

When it became evident that Cecil had gotten away with not one but three murders, Raymond had done what few ever accomplish: he had remained on this side until their deaths were avenged. Using every method at his disposal, he had hounded the man who had both given him life and taken it away, until he lost first his mind and then his body. What became of his dark soul after that was up to a higher power to decide.

Source: Erin Johnson Miller