On Highway 270 between Hot Springs and Mount Ida, roughly five miles east of Crystal Springs near the Garland-Montgomery County line, a site once stood that carried more than a century and a half of traveler history, frontier violence, and local legend deep enough to outlast the building itself. The Mayberry Springs Inn—sometimes called the Mayberry Hotel—burned down on May 30, 2009, but the stories attached to the property have proven far more durable than its wood-frame walls. The site's documented history reaches back to at least 1850, when it served as a stagecoach stop and bathhouse along the route connecting Hot Springs to points west. The location was valued in part for three natural springs on the property, which Native Americans had used long before European settlement. The springs were believed to possess curative properties—one was said to treat kidney ailments, another to restore failing eyesight. There is at least one documented case of a woman who reportedly regained her vision through use of the waters. David Mayberry, who had inherited his fortune from his father, traveled to the area from Tennessee around the 1830s and established the inn to accommodate the travelers and tourists arriving by stagecoach. The main surviving structure before the fire was a single-story wood-frame building with vernacular Greek Revival styling, a shed-roof porch extending across the front, probably built around 1895 on the older site. Historic archaeological remains at the property included cabin foundations and multiple wellheads from earlier periods of habitation. The property was listed on the National Register of Historic Places in 1990, though the listing was removed in 2022 following the building's destruction. The inn's heyday coincided with the mining boom that swept through the region after the Civil War, when silver strikes at Silver City, Joplin, and Bear drew prospectors and freight traffic through the area. Coaches and wagons passed through Mayberry Springs to reach the road to Bear, and the boarding house became a lucrative operation for David Mayberry and his family. The influx of miners and prospectors brought whiskey, gambling, and violence. According to local accounts, outlaws would wait for guests to settle into their rooms before raiding the inn—robbing those who had money and, as legend tells it, killing those who did not. One victim's bloodstain reportedly proved impossible to clean from the floor and was eventually painted over. Stagecoach travel through the region was dangerous by any measure, and local historian John J. Archibald has noted that several people are documented as having been murdered at or near the site after arriving by coach. The most widely circulated legend associated with the property involves David Mayberry himself. According to the story, Mayberry was shot during one of the inn's violent episodes. Though he survived, the injury allegedly triggered a descent into mental instability described in local lore as schizophrenia. In his deteriorated state, the legend holds that Mayberry stabbed his wife to death and burned her body in the fireplace, then drowned their young son. This account has been repeated across paranormal databases and haunted-location guides for decades. However, it should be noted that local historian John J. Archibald, speaking from the Mayberry Springs site for the Hot Springs Sentinel-Record in 2020, identified the tale of Mayberry murdering his wife and burning her body as fictional. Members of the Mayberry family have also publicly disputed the story, stating that David Mayberry never had a mental illness and never murdered anyone, and have called the accounts slanderous to his character. What is documented is that David Mayberry died in 1881 and that the legends surrounding the property proliferated after his death. Regardless of which specific stories are grounded in fact, the paranormal claims at the site have been remarkably consistent. Before the building burned, visitors reported hearing the sound of a woman crying, particularly around midnight. Screaming was reported emanating from a bathtub in the basement. The fireplace, which remained intact through the building's later years, displayed what some described as a cryptic message on the wall above it. Shadowy figures were seen inside and around the structure, and visitors reported a pervasive sense of unease on the property, particularly after dark. As one local publication described it, the inn's white-columned facade was picturesque in daylight but became something closer to an apparition at night. In its final decades, the property also gained a reputation as a gathering place for gambling, with some locals recounting that it had served as a Mafia-connected operation. Several small shacks once stood to the left of the main building, separated by a dirt driveway, adding to the compound's atmosphere of layered and not entirely explainable use. Today the main structure is gone, claimed by fire. The springs still exist behind the site, encased in concrete. The property is marked with caution tape and visible from the highway, though easier to spot heading west than east due to a curve in the road. The archaeological remains beneath the surface—cabin foundations, wellheads, and whatever else the ground holds from a century and a half of occupation—are presumably still intact. Whether the spirits that visitors reported before 2009 departed with the building or remain attached to the land itself is an open question, but at Mayberry Springs the history of violence, healing, and human desperation was always more about the ground than the walls built on top of it.