The Real Legend of the Term "Peeping Tom," According to My Grandpa

There are many rumors floating around on the internet, not least among them a vicious one about the origins of the term "Peeping Tom." Various sites claim the term originated in the 11th century when a tailor named Tom peeked at noblewoman Lady Godiva as she rode a horse through the streets of Coventry in the nude.

My grandpa knows better than that, however. On a recent sunny afternoon at his convalescent home, he relayed the real story behind the term, entrusting me to get the truth out:

The year was 1926, and few couples were as desperately in love as newlyweds Emmitt and Eda Gray. Love comes young in the Kentucky backwoods -- Emmitt was just 18 and his bride 15 -- but those first few weeks were bliss. The Grays had a cozy nest of a house raised on stilts above a trickling creek. Whether Eda didn't know how to sew or times were rough, is unclear -- but for some reason, the Grays decided curtains were unnecessary.

That's when the trouble started.

One night, the Grays were in their bedroom just ... err, doing what newlywed couples do when the pinewood steps leading up to their little cabin started creaking. From the bed, Emmitt could see out the bare window glass at a shadowy figure on the steps. Seeing he'd been spotted, the loiterer scurried off into the woods.

The next night, the same thing happened. From their bedroom, the couple heard the CREEEAK, CREEEAK, CREEEAK of footfall on their plank stairway. Emmitt bolted up, glimpsed the shadowy figure posted on the steps, and watched as he fled, his position compromised.

Emmitt was alarmed. Here he was in the backwoods, a quarter-mile from his closest neighbor, and he couldn't get no privacy. Worse, his mind spun in circles -- what if this fella wanted Emmitt's teenage wife? What if, while Emmitt was out working the fields and Eda was alone in the cabin, this fella showed up and -- ?

He couldn't take it anymore. Early the next morning, Emmitt threw on his overalls and marched to his father's house. His voice trembling, he told of the shadowy figure and the creaking steps and the doors without locks.

His dad stroked his beard thoughtfully. Then he patted Emmitt's back like old men do.

"Don't you worry, son," he said, jaw clenched. "That spawn of Satan ain't gon' be traipsing roun' these parts no more."

Emmitt's dad wasn't a shooting man. But he knew who was. He hiked over to visit the hottest temper in all of Lyon County -- my great-grandpa, Melvin Cotton -- and kindly asked if he could borrow a .12-gauge shotgun.

The moon was full that night. Emmitt's dad crouched low behind a tree until a shadowy figure appeared in the distance, headed straight for the house on stilts.

Emmitt's dad recognized him immediately in the beams of silver light. That sunken face and hunched back belonged to none other than Tom Jones, the 40-something, recluse of a bachelor who farmed tobacco next door.

Tom made his way across the open field and tiptoed up the planks of the Gray's house, hunkered next to the window, and peered in the glass. Emmitt's dad strode up to the cabin and clicked the gun into place.

BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! Tom doubled over and clutched his bloody middle.

"Serves ya right, Peeping Tom!" Emmitt's dad yelled, and Tom slinked off into the woods, leaving a bloody trail all the quarter-mile home.

The Lyon County doctor said he made a pretty nasty house call that night, and word spread quickly about Peeping Tom.

He rarely showed his face after that, and the Grays said they never heard the creaking on the steps again. Tom died old, but wiser -- and his infamy lives on well past the Kentucky state line in the term "Peeping Tom."

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My grandpa inherited that famous gun -- an 1890 single-barrel model from Riverside Arms -- from his father. He still keeps it in the pantry and said it's gunned down squirrels, rabbits and stray dogs.

It's most famous victim remains Peeping Tom Jones.