The Texarkana Moonlight Murders: The Phantom Killer Who Haunted the Border
In the spring of 1946, as the world was healing from the wounds of war, a different kind of darkness settled over the quiet border town of Texarkana. The twin cities — one half in Texas, the other in Arkansas — shared a Main Street, a newspaper, and a fear that would soon grip both sides like a vise. It began with soft footsteps in the dark and the glint of a gun barrel beneath the moonlight.
For ten weeks, a masked figure stalked couples parked along rural roads and lovers’ lanes. He struck without warning, vanished without trace, and left behind a trail of fear that locals would never forget. The newspapers called him “The Phantom Killer.” To Texarkana, he was something worse — proof that safety was only an illusion.
The First Attack
It was Friday night, February 22, 1946. Jimmy Hollis, age 25, and his girlfriend Mary Jeanne Larey, 19, parked their car on a quiet stretch of road after seeing a movie. Around midnight, a man approached — wearing a white mask, possibly a pillowcase, with holes cut for the eyes. He carried a pistol.
The stranger ordered them out of the car. He told Hollis to take off his pants, then beat him savagely with the gun. When Mary Jeanne tried to help, the attacker turned on her — chasing her down the road and assaulting her before disappearing into the trees. Both victims survived. They described the man as wearing a mask and speaking in a low, cold voice that carried no emotion.
Texarkana police initially treated the case as a robbery gone wrong. But three weeks later, that theory would die.
The Second Attack
On March 24, Richard Griffin (29) and Polly Ann Moore (17) were found dead in Griffin’s car near a rural road known as Rich Road. Both had been shot in the back of the head with a .32 caliber pistol. The killer had covered Griffin’s body with his coat, as if arranging the scene with eerie precision.
Shell casings matched those from the earlier attack. A pattern had begun — and Texarkana realized it was dealing with something much darker than random crime.
The Third Attack
On April 14, 1946, Paul Martin (16) and Betty Jo Booker (15) vanished after a Saturday night dance. Their bodies were found the next morning — Martin shot four times, Booker twice. Her saxophone, part of the high school band, was missing.
The killer’s method had evolved. He seemed calm, confident, and practiced. He left no fingerprints, no witnesses, and no clear motive. The police now used the phrase “sex maniac killer.” The press coined the name that would stick: The Phantom.
The city panicked. Stores sold out of guns, locks, and ammunition. Couples stopped going out after dark. Texarkana became a ghost town by 9 p.m. — blinds drawn, lights out, fear in every window.
The Final Crime
The last confirmed attack came on May 3, 1946. Virgil Starks, a 37-year-old farmer, was sitting in his living room reading the newspaper when he was shot twice through a window. His wife, Katie, ran to help but was shot in the face. Bleeding heavily, she fled the house barefoot and made it to a neighbor’s home. She survived — the Phantom’s only known witness who saw the aftermath up close.
When deputies arrived, they found blood trails across the floor, shattered glass, and muddy footprints outside the window. The killer had vanished into the fields again. No one ever saw him come or go.
The Investigation
Police from both Texas and Arkansas joined forces with the FBI. For weeks, roadblocks surrounded Texarkana. Cars were searched. Strangers were questioned. Armed patrols guarded the borders. Still — nothing. The killer had evaporated, leaving only fear behind.
The only major suspect was a man named Youell Swinney, a petty criminal with a record of car theft and violence. When questioned, Swinney’s wife allegedly told police, “You have the man who killed those people.” But because of spousal privilege, her statement couldn’t be used in court. Swinney was convicted of unrelated crimes and sent to prison — but never charged with murder.
When he died decades later, the case remained cold.
The Town That Dreaded Sundown
Texarkana tried to move on, but the fear became part of its identity. In 1976, thirty years after the killings, a movie called The Town That Dreaded Sundown dramatized the events — half-documentary, half-nightmare. Ironically, the film reignited interest in the real case and solidified the Phantom as a cultural ghost, forever haunting the city that birthed him.
Every year since, the town has screened that film at Spring Lake Park — just a few miles from where the first murders took place. Families bring blankets. Teens whisper in the dark. And behind the flickering movie light, the woods remain very real.
Theories and Speculation
- The Drifter Theory: Some believe the Phantom was a transient who drifted through the area and vanished after the final attack.
- The Copycat Theory: Others think there may have been more than one killer — someone imitating earlier crimes as panic spread.
- The Local Theory: A few investigators suspect the killer lived in Texarkana, blending in by day and hunting by night.
- The Youell Swinney Theory: Many still consider Swinney the prime suspect — unstable, violent, and present during all the crimes. But no definitive proof ever tied him to the murders.
Every few years, new DNA tests and cold case reviews reignite hope. Yet the evidence — the shell casings, the fibers, the fingerprints — never points anywhere conclusive.
The Phantom’s Legacy
In the years since, the Texarkana Moonlight Murders have become part of American folklore — a symbol of small-town fear and the unknowable cruelty of a faceless killer. The story endures not just because of what the Phantom did, but because of what he took: safety, trust, and the illusion that evil only lives far away.
Texarkana never forgot. Even now, old residents say the woods go silent sometimes on spring nights — the kind of silence that presses against the skin and reminds you that somewhere out there, under the same moon, the Phantom’s shadow might still be waiting.