Pennsylvania Haunts & History

Flinderation Tunnel

2011-11-12T10:56:00.001-05:00

Flinderation Tunnel from Facebook

There's an old, out-of-commission railroad line that passes beneath the Flinderation Tunnel near Salem, West Virginia. Officially known as the Brandy Gap Tunnel, it's located just off Flinderation Road and hence its local moniker. The 1,086' long tube was built in the 1850s as part of a main line of the B&O/CSX system.

It's sited about an hour away from the Trans-Allegheny Lunatic Asylum, and in fact they were featured together on the same Ghost Hunters episode in 2009. The asylum is well known as one of West Virginia's hottest paranormal spots. Flinderation's claim to spooked out fame begins with a three-man track gang working in the tunnel, sometime in the late nineteenth or early twentieth century.

While the gandy dancers were doing their thing, a train roared through the narrow tunnel, its engineer unaware that there was any work going on inside. One man managed to escape the speeding train, but the other pair were mangled and killed by the Iron Horse.

The train itself derailed, and there are conflicting tales as to why. One story says it was because the track work wasn't completed; another says that it tipped off the tracks while dragging a worker's body under its wheels. No one has found any published verification of the train wreck story, but it was long ago and far from any large towns. Beside, a train derailment and a couple of railroaders accidentally shuffling off this mortal coil wouldn't have been big news during that era.

Another tale equally as gruesome claims that the tunnel was a regular gathering point of the KKK in the early 1900s. Not only did the klansmen meet there, but they used the dark tunnel as a lynching spot to create a little extra terror while performing their horrific deeds.

To add to the eerie mix, Travel Channel's Ghost Stories said that a cemetery once existed atop the tunnel. The show claimed that some of the coffins fell through the roof of the tunnel, and that a disinterred body may have once been lodged between the tunnel's roof and the cemetery above.

As you might imagine, Flinderation's karma took quite a hit because of these events, and the tunnel has the paranormal lore to back its hard luck history.

People claim to have heard phantom train whistles and have seen a ghost train (or at least its lights) rumble through the tunnel, along with the sound of metal scraping against metal. The spirits of a young boy and girl, giggling and laughing, have been seen and heard. Voices saying "Help me" and "Quit pushing" have been reported by paranormal investigators, apparently remnants of the long-ago derailment.

Other sounds such as deep grumbles, sobbing and screaming are heard as common occurrences and been captured by EVPs. Unexplained lights, bodiless footsteps, orbs and mists have been both sighted and photographed.

Flinderation Tunnel was officially closed and the tracks were torn out in the nineties. It was out of service for some time prior to then because of the decline of railroad traffic in general and, it's said, because the tunnel's dark tales made it a track that railroaders religiously wanted to avoid. Today, like so many other abandoned rail lines, it's a recreational run, part of the eastern end of the North Bend Rail Trail.

So you can lace up your Nikes, hop on your bike, or jump on your horse (it's also an equestrian trail) to check out the legends of Flinderation Tunnel. When you get inside, your creep-o-meter will red line. It's pitch black once you're a few feet in (and flashlight batteries are said to die inside), its path is muddy and treacherous, and water drips through the ceiling while the splashes echo noisily off the walls. Or is that a decomposing body falling through the roof...?

Heck, if you dig the chills and eerie ambiance of Flinderation Tunnel, you can "like" its Facebook page. Even apparitions know how to get out the word with social tools nowadays. And ain't that spooky?

Homestead Carnegie Library

2011-11-04T19:00:00.000-04:00

Homestead Library from Library Journal

Built in 1898, the Carnegie Library of Homestead - actually, it's located in Munhall - was designed by Alden & Harlow and constructed by William Miller & Sons, both well known artisans from Pittsburgh, at a cost of $250,000.

This library was Carnegie's gift to the workers and families of the nearby Homestead Steel Works. It was small consolation for a community torn asunder by the bloody Homestead Strike of 1892. Many didn't even want to accept the building, though it eventually became a well-used neighborhood gathering spot with its books, pool, gym and music hall.

It didn't take long for some bad mojo to strike. Robert Peebles "was found dead in eight feet of water" in the pool on November 28th, 1899, "under mysterious circumstances" according to the Homestead Messenger. No one has claimed to see his spirit hovering, but there are plenty of other eerie experiences connected to the complex.

Books fly off the stacks and switch positions on the library shelves for no apparent reason, and doors open and close without any human intervention. Loud disembodied voices have been reported (no doubt drawing a frown and a "shhhh" from the not-easily-spooked librarians). The ghosts of old steel hands, still dressed in their sooty mill outfits, wander about the structure.

The library isn't the only hot spot for the unexplained. The housekeeper claimed to have seen a shadow moving in the back steps of the old music hall in the library; shadow figures of both sexes are regularly sighted in the building. The voices of ladies giggling in the basement locker room have been heard, and by no less than the Syfy Channel's "Ghost Hunters" squad.

The TAPS team visited the library in May of this year, and in September aired an episode from Homestead including Carnegie's building. And they confirmed most of the above phenomena to be active during their midnight expedition.

So if you ever stop by to grab a book or catch a show in the music hall, remember that the old steelworker standing nearby may not be on break from pumpin' iron and sweating steel, but an ethereal reminder of Homestead's misty past.

Mood Music

2011-10-30T16:00:00.000-04:00

Ready to get your Halloween spook on? See if these tunes help get you in the mood:

Boris Pickett & the Crypt Kickers do "The Monster Mash":

John Zacherle, the Cool Ghoul, and "Dinner With Dracula":

Michael Jackson's "Thriller":

Mike Oldfield's "Tubular Bells" from "The Exorcist":

Halloween: Popes and Druids, oh my...

2011-10-29T21:57:00.001-04:00

Most folk know that Halloween has morphed from the the old Irish festival of Samhain, which was the night when the world of the dead intersected with that of the living. To keep the spirits from roaming the earth (and to keep themselves from wandering into the otherworld) the farmers would gather around a bonfire, some dressed in masks and costumes, in an effort to get through the night with their ancestors by hook or crook.

But what many don't know is that the holiday thrived and survived thanks to the papal theory that "if ya can't beat 'em, join 'em."

In the middle ages when the economy was agrarian, pagan harvest rites like Samhain continued unabated no matter how much the Church tried to squelch them. All focused on the dead; after all, it was tied into the season when the earth's bounty began dying.

Surprisingly, it's thought by many that the All Hallows (Saints) holiday, the church's effort to co-opt the pagan rites, wasn't first aimed at the Irish, but the Romans.

In the early seventh century, the Romans celebrated the Feast of the Lemures, which featured rituals such as bean offerings to the dead, walking around in circles at midnight, banging brass pots and asking your departed relatives to stay wherever they were. And it culminated on May 13th, not the end of October.

Pope Boniface IV decided to usurp the pagan's dead day with a Christian holiday, and declared an All Martyrs day on the same date. It seemed to work; after a century or so, Popes Gregory III & IV decided to try the same trick and moved the holiday to November 1st, not only to counteract Samhain but several other autumn pagan rituals common in Northern Europe. They renamed it All Hallows Day. (It was actually celebrated at the same time, as the Church holiday began at sundown.)

Our most recognizable Halloween custom sprang from the church-sponsored holiday. Catholic dogma taught of a nether world for the dead called purgatory, a not-so-pleasant half-way house on the way to heaven. And since the souls there couldn't do much to advance their cause, their fast track to the Pearly Gate was greased through prayers from the living.

So a custom sprang up called "souling." Beggars would door knock for sweets - a fruit cookie of sorts called a "soul cake" - and in exchange for the pastry promised to pray for departed souls. That practice morphed into today's trick or treating.

The church also introduced the association of witches with the holiday. They weren't really part of the culture until the witch hunts of the Middle Ages, although their familiars seem to have a long history of causing panic. The black cats were especially dreaded by the superstitious because all that could be seen of them at night were their seemingly disembodied glowing eyes.

But many of the customs remain from the old days as the church couldn't entirely dig out the pagan roots of Halloween. Skeletons were used from the beginning, some even being propped up on window sills to keep the dead at bay. Ghosts and the undead, of course, were the reason d 'etre of the pagan rites. Costumes and masks were worn by the Druids and their followers. And the jack-o-lantern was handed down through Irish folklore.

So there it is. Halloween is a tangled weave of Christian and pagan ritual and belief. Still, it's kinda hard to imagine that a bag of candy and Freddy Krueger was what the Vatican and Druids had in mind all those centuries ago. C' est la vie.

A Couch Potato Halloween

2011-10-03T18:00:00.003-04:00

Another quick PSA - TV Tango has a listing of all the October Halloween shows being aired during the 2011 Devil's Night season by the major networks & cable biggies. So if the weather outside gets frightful, you can get your ghoul on in front of the tube. It's pretty inclusive, ranging from Freddy to Charlie Brown.

Pittsburgh Things That Go Bump In The Night

2011-09-24T10:23:00.000-04:00

Today's post will be a PSA for my Pittsburgh area homeys as the Steel City prepares for its annual descent into Halloween gore, featuring fright-nights and the Three Rivers' favorite undead, zombies.

First, the Post-Gazette covers all the fright night haunts in the region from Hundred Acres Mansion to the Demon House in Faith Cotter's article "Spreading Fear."

The Tribune Review posts its mansions of mayhem, too, including some that are gently haunted for the kiddies and a movie schedule in its piece "Scary Season." It also has an older story by Michael Machosky called "Pittsburgh's Obsession With The Undead" that gives a neat little background on "Zombietown, USA."

We'd be remiss if we didn't mention the Zombie Fest, which will be held at Market Square on Saturday, October 8th, featuring bands and fun events like the brain-eating contest. It starts at noon; after all, zombies need their beauty sleep.

Hey, hometown pride runs deeper than the sports teams in da 'Burg. In some circles, George Romero is held in higher esteem than Hines Ward and Mario Lemieux. So wave your freak flag proudly, Tri-State spook fans. It's your season to screech.

Jersey City School Spirits

2011-09-11T13:00:00.001-04:00

New Jersey State University Tower

New Jersey City University opened in 1929 as the New Jersey State Normal School at Jersey City. The school evolved into a Teachers College in 1935, Jersey City State College in 1958, and an accredited liberal arts institution in 1968. In 1998, it became a university. And no matter what name it's known by, the school has some spooky lore.

There are some typical tales. Vodra Hall, a dorm located in the middle of campus, is the alleged site of unexplained laughter and music (at least it has happy spooks). And the old Science Center, now replaced and used by Hudson County CC, has a legend that claims an elevator workman was electrocuted on the second floor, and ever since the elevator often stops there whether or not the button is pushed.

But the primo paranormal spot is a gothic tower and theatre that are part of the oldest building on campus, the equally gothic Hepburn Hall (the structures are so associated with the school that its teams are known as the Gothics), which opened in 1930.

Hepburn Hall, the only school building used during the first 25 years of NJCU's existence, houses administrative offices, classrooms and the Margaret Williams Theater.

Opened in 1931 as an addition to Hepburn, the theatre was originally designed as a combination auditorium and gym like you see in most high schools. In 1968 it was renovated for use solely as a theatre and named after long-time faculty member Margaret Williams. She must have been pleased; it's said she's never left the building.

The classroom closest to the theater (Room 220) and under the Tower is always cold. Students have reported odd sounds coming from the attic and backstage of the theatre. The actual theatre sometimes has a spotlight that turns on and tracks an unseen phantom performance; some claim to hear songs and music coming from an empty stage.

But the most popular lore is the sighting of Margaret William's ghost floating through the halls. She's been reported seen in various rooms and the theatre. It's said that at night, you can sometimes see Williams peering down at you from the Tower. She haunted the theatre area during life, and looks like she's still comfortable there in death.

If you want to check out NJCU a little more, its lore is part of the popular Weird New Jersey series by Mark Moran and Mark Sceurman.

SUNY Plattsburgh

2011-09-01T23:45:00.001-04:00

MacDonough Hall from School Designs

SUNY Plattsburgh started its days as the Plattsburgh Normal and Training School when it opened its doors in 1890 as a two-year teaching and nursing institution in Clinton County. It joined the state university system in 1948.

Now you'd think after a dozen decades that this bastion of academia would do its duty and graduate a few ghoulish stories to spread around campus. But we could only come up with two haunted halls, and one may be in paranormal remission.

That would be the old Normal School building, the oldest structure on campus. As chronicled by Cheri Farnsworth in Haunted Northern New York, a turn-of-the-century schoolmarm sent one of her students to the basement to find out why the heat wasn't on. He found the answer hanging from the ceiling in the person of the janitor.

Cheri changed that a little later in her Big Book of New York Ghost Stories after some extra newspaper research. Just a few particulars were altered: in 1917, janitor John Blanchard did kill himself by inhaling gas because he was despondent over his wife's recent death.

Regardless of the year or method, the janitor reportedly didn't leave the Normal School after his departure from this vale of tears. Blanchard was often seen during the ensuing years walking the halls and checking the roof, just as if he were performing his everyday rounds.

The Normal School burned completely to ashes on January 26th, 1929, and it took more than three years to replace the original structure, built on the bones of the old. In 1955, it was renamed after Plattsburgh's longest tenured leader, George Hawkins, who was the school's principal (similar to president) when it was rebuilt.

Did Blanchard finally find the light home after the fire? Probably - he hasn't been seen since, although some still sense his presence.

But don't fear. There's still a dorm around that's full of unexplained phenomena and spooks, MacDonough Hall, the oldest resident hall on campus.

In 1948, work on the dorm, named in honor of General Thomas MacDonough, who led his troops to victory over the British in the Battle of Plattsburgh that capped the War of 1812, began. The field behind MacDonough Hall was used as a public hanging grounds for the nearby Arsenal, which was destroyed by a British raid on July 30th, 1813.

When workers began their site excavations, they found two old tombstones (some say remains were discovered, too) of a woman and a child, both believed to be among the oldest settlers in the area. The stones were moved to the roadway to be picked up and the digging went on. But the next morning, the markers couldn't be found. To this day, their disappearance has never been solved.

Hanging grounds? Disturbed graveyards? Hey, no good can come of a location like that, and MacDonough has its share of tales to tell.

Students have seen flickering on/off lights, heard piano music coming from an empty lobby and eerie children's laughter and crying echoing through the hallways. Some have seen grotesque images reflected from mirrors and windows, and heard the screams of a woman. One student reported being smothered in bed as her name was being called, supposedly verified by her roomie. A paranormal team went through the building, and got an EVP of a woman whispering to them in the attic.

One legend, reported on Shadowlands and some other sites, is that the basement of MacDonough Hall was once the morgue for the old city hospital. That's one bit of lore we can debunk. MacDonough opened in 1951 as a dormitory and has never been used as anything but a residence since then.

The morgue story has its roots in the web of underground passages beneath the building. They're not sinister. The "catacombs," as they're sometimes known, are used as maintenance tunnels, and back in the good ol' days of the Cold War also served as the school's bomb shelters in case the Russki Bear decided to drop the big one. And Plattsburgh was a primo target then; the nearby Air Force base was Top Ten on the hit list.

In fact, the base is supposed to be a haven to quite a few spooks itself, but we'll save that post for another day.

If you want to know a little more about Plattsburgh's haunted halls, open a copy of Haunted Northern New York or the Big Book of New York Ghost Stories by Cheri (Ravai) Farnsworth. Or enroll; your choice.

Kenyon College

2011-08-28T04:52:00.000-04:00

Old Kenyon

Bishop Philander Chase established Kenyon College on a hilltop overlooking central Ohio's Kokosing River Valley in 1825. The first permanent building, Old Kenyon, went up a couple of years later. The Gambier, Knox County institution has evolved into a highly regarded liberal arts school.

But hey, with almost two centuries of existence, you know the school has more attached to it than a long list of distinguished alums (which it most certainly boasts). It's considered one of the more heavily haunted sites in the state. It starts when you enter the campus.

The southern campus gates on the school's Main Path are said to have been built over a Hellmouth, or portal to Lucifer's lair. One shouldn't walk between the pillars when the bells in the Church of the Holy Spirit are chiming at midnight, unless looking for a one-way ticket to perdition. That's why they're known by the students as the "Gates of Hell."

Others warn to never look into the trees shading the gravelly Middle Path. Because of their shape, they're considered "pitchfork trees." We're not exactly sure what that means, but it sounds sufficiently sinister enough that we sure as heck don't plan to find out. Superstitious Kenyon students who pass between the old gates always tap one as they pass, apparently to keep themselves grounded in the material world.

Once you're safely on campus, there's hardly a building that doesn't have a tale connected with it.

Bailey House: There are reports of footsteps in an empty building, cold spots and a sense of presence.

Caples Hall: The ghost of a student who died in a plunge down an elevator shaft allegedly still holds a grudge against girls in Caples Hall. The most popular story is that the guy, returning unexpectedly from a party, found his girl with another fella. This led to a pretty nasty argument, and she barricaded her door with a bureau while the angry beau either fell or was pushed down the shaft, presumably by the other guy.

(Another version has the guy staying overnight with his girlfriend, and when groggily leaving in the morning, stepped through the elevator doors without noticing that there was no elevator car and fell to his death. We like the first tale better; it explains the spooks' campaign against females.)

The gal involved later felt icy hands covering her face as she slept and found her door blocked by her dresser on different occasions. The jilted lover's transparent spook has been reportedly seen leaning against female students' furniture, and sometimes pushes dressers against dorm room doors in a ghostly reenactment of his last night on this mortal coil. The spirit actually tries to physically harm females in the hall, according to the lore, accused once of smothering a girl with her pillow.

The events all take place on the eighth floor.This is supposedly based on an actual incident that happened at Caple, although we suspect the details have become fairly well muddled over time.

Church of the Holy Spirit: The 19th century chapel is thought to be cursed. There are scorch marks by the windows (although no record of a fire exists) but they run down instead of up, meaning the flame that caused them burnt downwards. That defies physics, but it is the right direction if you're headed to Hades. It seems fitting. The church is alleged to sit over the pits of Hell, yet another gateway to Old Scratch's realm.

There are also reports of a priest's ghost, a pitch-black shape seen under the choir loft. Years ago, the father was said to have gone loco and locked himself in the office of the Church. The legend is that he hung himself in the belltower and is now condemned to haunt the church forever as his eternal punishment.

The DKE Pledge: In 1905 Stuart Pierson was killed while pledging the DKEs when he was struck by a train on a trestle over the Kokosing River during his initiation. Every year on the accident's anniversary date of October 28th, Stu's ghost is said to gaze forlornly out of a window as the trains pass. In fact, whoever's living his former room in Old Kenyon vacates it that day for Stuart to reclaim.

Pierson's shadow now has to watch Schwinns whizzing by instead of locomotives as his fateful railroad line has been replaced by a bike trail. Stuart is active during the rest of the year, too. He opens and closes windows on the top floor and his footsteps can be heard treading across the roof through the ceiling.

Those with a more skeptical bend suspect that the Stu story is just a way for the DKE brothers to spook the pledges. They hold a ceremony with a processional carrying a coffin to the trestle, followed by various readings while dressed in frat regalia on the anniversary of "Stewie's" death. Nothing like a little pomp and circumstance.

One positive came from Stu's untimely demise, which is a documented event. For the first time, the Greek community began to examine the question of fraternity hazing, although it would take decades to finally tone down the practice.

The Hill Theater: It's located inside the Shaffer Speech Center, which was supposedly built on site of a drunk driving accident that killed two students. Night staff routinely find the ghost light (a theatrical night light) unscrewed on the Hill stage. Although they turn it back on and lock the building, they often find it unscrewed again on their next visit. The stage curtains are also often found mysteriously open after having been closed following the evening rehearsals.

Guards have also allegedly reported seeing the spirit of a student who fell to his death from the catwalk. The sound of his body repeatedly thumping against the backstage is said to echo through the theater.

Kokosing (Bishop's) House: The Kokosing House, also known as the Bishop's House, was built in 1864 by Bishop Gregory Thurston Bedell. Residents and guests have reported organ music, doors which had been closed standing open, strange noises in the front room, creaking floors, footsteps and banging windows. The resident ghost, a female, has been seen on the house balcony and stairwell, although nobody is quite sure who she is.

Leonard Hall: Room thirteen (where else?) is supposedly haunted. Residents report creaking sounds and a sense a presence. A guard once claimed to have seen a figure in a ball cap that disappeared in front of him.

Lewis Hall: A freshman who hanged himself in the attic (which has since been boarded up) turns lights on and off, randomly flushes toilets, and disturbs students by knocking on their doors. Kinda hard to tell the difference between a flesh-and-blood frosh from a spook, judging by that phenomena.

Manning Hall: A student who died of leukemia before she could attend classes keeps herself busy waiting for her first day of courses to arrive. She rearranges furniture and student belongings in her old dorm room, 108, as if still preparing herself for the upcoming school year.

Mather Hall: The basement of this dorm is supposed to have trap doors that lead down to the Gateway to Hell (the third one on campus, by our count). It's said that if they're opened a Satanic altar will appear along with a flaming stairway leading to Satan's sin bin.

Norton Hall: A student who committed suicide in his dorm room roams the hall's corridors. The female spirit is said to be a night stalker of sorts. She noisily paces the dorm late at night when most of the living students are asleep, or at least trying to sleep. Why? Because she was an insomniac in real life who walked the halls when she couldn't sleep.

Old Kenyon: On February 27th, 1949, nine students were killed in a blaze that consumed the school's oldest building, dating to 1827. It was rebuilt the following year, and tales of the victim's spirits began almost immediately after it reopened. The shadows of the unfortunate nine were reported gliding down the halls, visible only from the knees up because the foundation of the new dorm was higher than the one of the former building. Some students claimed to see the transparent legs of the ghosts hanging through the ceiling of a lower floor.

More eerily, night cries of "Get me out of here!" are heard, along with "Wake up, fire!" ringing through the halls, accompanied by the violent shaking of closed doors. It's also been said that 1949 yearbooks are sometimes found open to the page with the names of the nine victims.

There's also a little contrarian history involved. Some claim that the ghosts are actually nine women who died in the fire while staying over at Old Kenyon with their boyfriends after a Sophomore dance. The school administration never conceded the possibility that girls were in the all-male dorm. But it's said that at night you can hear a group of women singing around Old Kenyon.

Rosse Hall: There's a portrait of Lady Rosse, a supporter of Bishop Chase, in the hall foyer ("Lady Jane King"). It's said the picture's eyes will follow you around, and if you stare at the portrait too long, you'll be cursed.

Shaffer Pool/Bolton Dance Studio: This building used to be the home of the Kenyon swimming pool. According to legend, a swimmer using the high dive board bounced his head off the glass ceiling (the original pool was called "The Greenhouse" because of that feature), broke his neck, splashed into the pool and drowned.

There is no record of that sort of event ever happening, but there sure are a lot of spooky tales that make it seem possible. When the old pool was still used (it's since moved to a modern athletic complex), swimmers sometimes heard a voice calling out for help or lifeguards would hear someone thrashing in the water, only to find the pool empty. Conversational voices have been heard, too.

The Dance Studio has been plagued by the unexplained as well. Wet footprints lead into the old locker room area or to walls where they dead end. Splashing and springboard sounds are heard by dancers in the studio, and a small white face with wet, slicked back hair has been reported peeking out through a window at passersby.

A school tradition has the old pool, which was located in the current Shaffer basement (it's now a boiler room) visited annually by the swim team before their championship meet. By candlelight, the team goes down the spiral staircase and gathers around one of the seniors, who tells the story of "The Greenhouse Ghost" to get the squad in the mood to do-or-die in the upcoming meet.

It's been said that the ghost moved to the new pool, though that's unconfirmed. That's a lot of spectral swimming for our water wraith.

Wertheimer Fieldhouse: A jogging ghost has been reported by the night guards, unseen but heard running around the track. There are also claims of music coming from the storage area, apparently as the track spook winds down after his workout. The spirit may not even have a Kenyon connection. The fieldhouse was part of an old off-site Navy installation and was donated to the college. It was transported to Kenyon, so maybe the jogger came along for the ride.

With all these tales, we still probably haven't done justice to Kenyon's haunted history. Tim Shutt, a professor well known for his ghost tours, which he conducts in a top hat and waistcoat, is the man to find when you're on campus. He knows where all the skeletons are hidden.

Davis & Elkins College

2011-08-21T20:48:00.000-04:00

Graceland

Elkins in Randolph County, West Virginia is a scenic Appalachian retreat and home to Davis & Elkins College. The liberal arts college owns the former summer estates and social gathering places of early 20th century senators Henry Davis and Stephen Elkins. The mansions offer a magnificent vista of the mountains, located high atop "Haunted Hill."

Graceland was built by railroader Henry Gassaway Davis and his wife, and was completed in 1893. Originally called Mingo Moor, Davis switched gears and named the house in honor of his beloved youngest daughter, Grace.

The home was bought by the West Virginia Presbyterian Education Fund in 1941 and presented to the college. Graceland was used as a men's residence hall until 1970 and then was closed until the early 1990's. It became the on-campus Graceland Inn, which opened its doors in 1996.

It's a popular lodge, restaurant and meeting center. But hey, watch who you're talking to - not all the guests are newly registered.

Graceland is thought to house the spirit of Grace (who else?). She's said to be the source of the unidentified sounds and sense of presence that fills the estate; some have even claimed to have caught a glimpse of her. Her supernatural aura was said to be strong enough to stop a prom being held in the building.

In 2008, paranormal investigator Chris Fleming led a troop of students on a ghost hunting expedition of Graceland. He got an alleged EVP from Henry Davis, saying hello, identifying himself, and then asking the group to leave. The gang even got a fuzzy photo of the good senator's shadow. Fleming also ran across Katie, apparently an old servant, who instructed the group to move on to the kitchen. When they got there, the gas burners turned on by themselves.

But the mansion's star spook is a former servant who, as the tale goes, was beaten to death for some transgression and buried under the dirt floor of Graceland's basement. People have reported seeing his face looking out the top window of the building.

Halliehurst, built in 1891 by Senator Stephen Elkins, was donated to the college in 1924 by the senator's wife and the mansion's namesake, Hallie Davis Elkins. When the College first opened, Halliehurst was a female dorm and has since been an administrative center for the school. Apparently, it's still Hallie's home, too.

Hallie's ghost has been seen looking out the window of her bedroom on the second floor, which is now the Admissions Office. Some say they've spotted her running up and down the stairs. Others claim that they felt a shove when they were on the steps or balcony.

Others say that they've seen and heard a small knot of children laughing and playing on the porch and even seen a giggling girl standing on the stairway and then disappearing.

Fleming visited Halliehurst the same night he toured Graceland. He said he made contact with children on the second floor, whose laughter was caught on EVP. In the servants wing of the mansion, Fleming said he felt the presence of a ghost and tried to make contact with no luck. But there is supposedly a photo that depicts the ghostly face of a young woman in a kitchen window of Halliehurst.

While the locals are of divided opinion regarding the going-ons at the houses on Haunted Hill, they don't exactly shush the rumors away; some are even supported by staff reports. And both mansions are the sites of Haunted Halloween parties, ghost tours and other spookily themed events, reminders yet of the century old Davis-Elkin legacy. It's kinda nice that the old bones still have an interest in the College named for their families after all these years.

Grenville Hotel

2011-06-04T18:27:00.001-04:00

The Grenville Hotel & Restaurant
The plush Grenville Hotel at Bay Head, New Jersey, is a Grande Dame of local seaside hotels, dating back to 1890. It was built on Barnegat Island by Wycoff Applegate, who also built the Bay Head Yacht Club.

In 1922, the hotel was sold to Nellie Georgette who renamed it "The Georgette." In 1945, it was sold to the Grenville Corporation and became "The Grenville Arms." Later it was christened "The Grenville" after The Arms was destroyed in a fire.

Since 1956, the title has switched hands three times; the hotel now belongs to Harry and Renee Typaldos, owners since 2003. It's the kind of place that people like to return to every year for their summer vacation, right on the shore.

Most of the guests like to tan, splash around, and enjoy a week-long romp in the sun and sand. But others come away with stories of the hotel's more permanent guests, its spooks.

Now, the Typaldos say they've never seen anything supernatural occur in their hotel, but they do admit it's an old building with a lot of tradition and history, and have a generally laissez-faire attitude toward the whole ghost thingie.

But check with their employees, and the stories come gushing out. They've heard the sound of footsteps and moving furniture in empty rooms, and people walking down hallways when they're alone. The sense of presence while they work is also a well known phenomena at the hotel.

One popular report is of the sound of children, playing and laughing, in the lobby and the hallways, usually at night. One employee claimed to have seen the ghostly kids in the lobby.

Guests have verified what the staff has seen and heard, adding their own tales. Some visitors claimed to see apparitions of people dressed in dark nineteenth century outfits walking through their rooms or down the hall. Others have said that they've seen an impression form on their beds as if someone were laying there.

Lookin' for a little sun in the summer? Try a trip to the Grenville - you may be surprised at who you meet.

(Readers - sorry; we've been on a bit of a hiatus. This is our weekend blog, and spring has finally sprung. We promise to get back in the swing of things after fending off our spring fever - H&H)

Westminster Burying Grounds

2011-05-03T18:21:00.001-04:00

Westminster Hall & Burying Ground
image from Welcome to Baltimore
The Westminster Presbyterian Western Burial Ground, located in Baltimore, Maryland on Fayette and Greene Streets, was purchased in 1786 (it had been part of John Howard's peach orchard), and became the final resting place for the elite of the region.

A church was built directly atop the burial grounds in 1852. The web history has it that a local law required cemeteries in the city proper to physically connect with an adjoining church, but it actually was raised to provide a growing western Baltimore population with a place to worship.

property being tight, the structure was plopped in the middle of the boneyard, straddling gravestones and burial vaults to create a hybrid catacomb system between its supporting arches and under its floor.

But the church membership crested and by the 1920's, the flock eventually moved away into the 'burbs, leaving the historic graveyard deserted, in disrepair and vandalized for decades.

In 1970, the U of Maryland got hold of the land, and in 1981, the Westminster Preservation Trust began to manage the property and are in the ongoing process of restoring it. Thanks to their work, the church (now Westminster Hall) and cemetery are again open to the public from dawn to dusk.

The graveyard now holds the plots of deceased plain folk, assorted hoi-polloi, eight congressmen, five mayors, Revolutionary War and War of 1812 veterans, a small army of generals, and local celebs like Edgar Allen Poe, all who found Westminster to be their last stop.

And not very many of them seem to resting in peace.

Cemetery visitors have reported hearing bodiless voices, footsteps and screams, feeling the grip of invisible icy hands, sniffing inexplicable stenches and encountering cold spots.

There are numerous alleged sightings of spirits and dark misty figures roaming the grounds, often looking more lost than the living. Ghost hunters have captured EVPs and photos of the dearly departed in orb/shadow form. And that's just the tip of the iceberg.

One suspected cause of the eeriness is the church itself. Because it was thrown up in the middle of the graveyard (it's said that the cemetery's brick paths were used as a foundation), there are some tombs that are now inaccessible to visitors. And boy, there's nothing more cranky (or noisy) than a lonesome, forgotten spook.

Another is the movement of graves during the building of the church. A whole section of Revolutionary War soldiers thought lost was later discovered under one of the walkways, and other bodies were likewise shuffled around or just plain lost.

God only knows how many plots were covered or moved because of the church; it was said that kids could be seen playing with skulls in the graveyard.

Davidge Hall provided another source of potential spookiness. It is the oldest medical school building in the US, dating back a couple of centuries, and was where bodies were dissected by the students. It was also built on property carved from John Howard's farm, so guess where the cadavers came from?

Digging up bodies for anatomical studies became commonplace. The midnight raids, though, so upset the locals that they once hung a student grave-robber that they had caught in the ghoulish act. Vandals and thieves were also a constant problem. They left the bodies intact, but stripped off anything of value, like jewelry.

Add to that macabre mix tales of people buried alive, although for what reason we never did discover, and you have a perfect storm for spooks. Neglected, abused, dissected, relocated, built over, lost...it's no wonder there are so many reports of Westminster apparitions.

There are several haunts that are renowned at Westminster. One is the "screaming skull of Cambridge" of a long-ago murdered minister.

It's said to screech 24/7 - and the lore is that when they planted the clergyman, they gagged his skull's yap and covered it in cement in an effort to shut him up. It usually works, but woe to anyone that hears the scream; it's supposed to drive you insane.

Another often-sighted spirit is that of a nameless, elderly, white-haired spirit, seen walking slowly between the rows of tombstones as if in search of a particular marker.

There's also lore of an insane woman's ghost haunting the catacombs. She was considered so raving mad that she was buried in her strait jacket. Her crazed laughter is supposed to echo through the catacombs, and her presence has reportedly followed folk through the graveyard.

And don't disrespect a grave; the shadow of an old groundskeeper may show up and start chasing you with a shovel. The ghost is said to act as if he's under the influence, as he was most of his time on earth, and will swear up a storm while shooing you out of his cemetery.

The second-most famous spirit is that of 16 year old Lucia Watson Taylor, who died back in 1816. She's been seen many times kneeling by her own grave and praying, a long haired lass dressed in a loose white dress.

But the main man at Westminster is America's Master of the Macabre, Edgar Allan Poe. EAP died on October 7, 1849 on the sidewalks of Baltimore, and was buried in Westminster Church Cemetery.

He only died once, but he has two graves at Westminster. His original marker is near the back of the cemetery and is a headstone with an engraved raven. He actually went quite a while without a stone; his memorial was shattered in a train accident on the way to Baltimore.

The second is a monument added in 1875 after Western Female HS teacher Sarah Sigourney Rice and Baltimore school children waged a "Pennies for Poe" campaign to build a proper memorial. It's where he's actually buried now.

In commemoration of their success (George Childs actually covered half the cost, but hey...), it's a tradition for visitors to leave a penny at his grave site even today.

Everyone knows the story of Poe's birthday visitor, and he's not a spook. But did you know that Poe himself makes the rounds at Westminster every so often?

He's been seen in the grave yard, mostly around his birthday but also at other times throughout the year. Poe is reported to be dressed in black, wearing a waistcoat, broad brimmed fedora, and a scarf covering his face.

Edgar Allen carries a walking cane topped with a silver cat's head, and has even talked to some of the people who have seen him. Poe's also been reported in the catacombs.

Hey, Westminster Burying Grounds is beaucoup popular. Beside ghost and Halloween tours, it's been featured on "Sightings - The Ghost Report," and episodes of "Creepy Canada" and "Scariest Places on Earth."

And you can't beat the price of a visit - it's free, except for the penny you have to leave for Edgar Allen Poe.

Piney Bottom's Headless Hitch Hiker

2011-04-16T16:19:00.002-04:00

from Scary Halloween Costumes
Piney Bottom is near Harts, in Lincoln county, West Virginia, a little south of Huntington and located at the mouth of Big Harts Creek.

According to Wikipedia, the town was named for Stephen Hart (Heart), an Indian fighter and early settler who lived at the mouth of the creek. Originally, the town was named "Heart's Creek," then later "Hart" and more recently "Harts."

The Big Harts Creek runs along the Guyandotte River; there's also Little Harts Creek nearby and at least one sizable offshoot, the West Fork. The quiet hollow these streams flow through is known locally as Piney Bottom. And it's home to one of the state's eerier legends.

In the 1800s, there were several sightings of a headless man dressed in black walking the area, especially by the first creek flowing through the bottoms. Another version claims that a ghostly carriage manned by the headless ghost would give people rides.

H&H tends to discount that tale; you have to be awfully tired of traveling via the shoe leather express to jump aboard a spook wagon being driven by a headless apparition.

While a scary sight, the headless dude was harmless. But there's a more chilling second act to the lore.

Folk riding their horses through the hollow reported that a headless black beast, part man, part critter, would jump on the back of their steed to hitch a ride. The monstrosity would wrap its arms around the rider in a death grip (what else?), scaring him and the poor horse witless, hanging on from the first creek to the ford of the next stream.

Now no one knows who or what the creature is, although some suspect that it's just another form of the ghost in black - after all, it's headless, and hops aboard at the same spot that the spirit man haunts. But that link has never been proven.

And it probably never will. With the advent of the auto, the ghost in black reports have dwindled to nothing; maybe cars scare him. But if you're curious, strap a saddle on a horse and take a slow trot through Piney Bottom. Let H&H know how the ride went.

The story is told in "Haunted West Virginia: Ghosts & Strange Phenomena of the Mountain State" by Patty A. Wilson, a noted regional paranormal writer.

Oak Hill Cottage

2011-04-10T19:08:00.001-04:00

Oak Hill Cottage from Mansfield Tourism
Oak Hill was built by John Robinson in 1847 on a hill overlooking the town of Mansfield, Ohio, close by the railroad he had helped to build. Robinson and his family lived at Oak Hill until 1861, and five of his twelve children were born there.

Dr. Johannes Aten Jones bought the Gothic Revival home in 1864 at the urging of his bride, Frances. Author Louis Bromfield played at Oak Hill Cottage as a child and wrote about the house in his 1924 novel "The Green Bay Tree," calling it "Shane’s Castle."

The property was divided and sold in 1923 after the eldest Jones daughter, Ida, died. Leile, another of the Jones' daughters, moved back into the house in 1947, and sold the cottage and its contents to the Richland County Historical Society in 1965.

Now it's a museum, open for tours and sightseeing - and there are more things in Oak Hill Cottage than meet the eye.

First, there are the usual sensory phenomena. Visitors claim to feel a stifling presence of someone watching them, some even suffering panic attacks, and other oddities, such as the lights on the chandelier flickering on and off. And that's just the starting point.

One ghost reported is that of an elderly female, wearing period clothing, most often seen on the main stairway. If you spot her, never fear - she's said to be friendly and seems happy to see visitors admiring her home; she may even welcome you. It's supposed that she's Frances Jones, who truly loved the cottage.

She's also been seen fluffing the pillows and dusting in the cottage rooms, still a neat housekeeper after all these years (some say it's an old maid still doing her duty, but we prefer to agree with those who think it's Frances, keeping her pride and joy homestead up to snuff).

Other spooks are more site specific.

A back stairway leads a small landing, one which is reportedly frequented by the spirit of a young boy dressed in white stockings and knee pants. He's thought to be the shadow of one of the Robinson's sons who died in the home and spent his days playing on the landing.

In the basement, the apparition of an old man haunts the furnace area, and he has a bad vibe. No one can quite identify him, but it's no wonder he's ornery, being stuck in the cellar for all eternity.

Stop in if you get the chance. The house has a great history, and you may get to take in more than the furniture and art. You may be lucky enough to meet an old inhabitant or two.

U at Albany Haunts

2011-04-02T11:16:00.004-04:00

University at Albany - Normal College Days
Hey, when your looking for ghosties, colleges are always a good place to start. Most have a long history and a tradition of both long-time employees who can't seem to leave their schools and students who have met a messy end. New York's University at Albany is no exception.

It dates back to 1844, and since has grown to a major research center with 18,000 students scattered over several city campuses, with a tradition of gently spooked buildings. Its alleged haunts include:

-- The Humanities Building mostly reports, via the evening work staff, eerie night noises - things dropping to the floor, slamming doors, bodiless footsteps and other assorted sounds. There are also unsubstantiated reports of a ghostly nun sighted in the hall.

-- Mahican Hall (located at the Indian Quad, how appropriate!) is said to be spooked by the apparition of girl that walks the corridors late at night. She's a relatively recent addition to Albany's lore, first being reported in the mid-nineties.

-- The Performing Arts Center features the shadow of an electrician who died in the building when some wires he was working on shorted. He's more of a presence than actual spook, and his sense has been reported by actors, especially during rehearsals.

-- Pierce Hall, part of downtown Albany's Alumni Quad, was built in 1935 as a women's dorm and basically unchanged since then, also hosts a specter girl that endlessly paces the building.

The U may not exactly be a hotbed of howling ghouls, but hey - get off campus and take a trip through Albany; you'll find a who's who of spookdom in the state capitol.

The Education Building sports the spirit of a workman who was buried alive in concrete in the basement, called the Dungeon; Sage College's Fine Arts Building is home to a collection of specters; and the Capitol Building tour includes the ghost of a custodian who died in a fire; there are several other tales of the unexplained floating all around the town.

Detractors may mockingly call the upstate city smAlbany (everyplace can't be the Big Apple), but it's big-time when it comes to spooky lore.

Cycles And Spooks...

2011-03-27T11:43:00.005-04:00

Ron Kirkpatrick Customs
Hey, H&H is used to presenting spooky lore to his readers; this week, he's going to turn the tables and let a reader present his eerie story to the fans.

Ron Kirkpatrick of East Brady is a talented and hard-working customizer; he operates his own shop, Ron Kirkpatrick Customs, on 3rd Street. His company specializes in bike work and does vehicle customizing, too. He wrote H&H and related this tale:

His shop was originally built in 1927 as a Quaker State station. The previous owner sold the shop to Kirkpatrick after he had a ghost sighting and refused to ever set foot in the building again. Despite the tale, Ron plunked down the cash and set up business.

Kirkpatrick poked into the history of the structure a bit, and found out that a pair of people had died there, including the original owner, because of work-related accidents. That in itself isn't all that unusual, considering the shop dates back to the Roaring Twenties.

But the old owner's tale picked up some credence when Kirkpatrick's security system taped pictures of orbs on a daily basis and suffered from unexplained electrical glitches, one of the trademarks of visitors from the other side.

Adding another log to the fire were the reports from his staff, who claimed to witness two misty old men in the garage and "seeing other stuff flying around."

Intrigued, he had a local ghost-hunting crew investigate the place. They captured an EVP of a voice that said their names before their equipment malfunctioned.

Do the spirits of two men who left home for work and never returned now consider the shop their new home? Well, Kirkpatrick will leave it up to you; he has an open invitation for the curious to stop by his place, at 504 3rd Street on Route 68, to see for themselves.

Better yet, bring your ride. The shop spooks will keep you entertained while Kirkpatrick turns your wheels into a work of street art (flames or haunted theme, your choice).

Ron sent us pictures taken by his security cam; here's one orb shot:

North Bend State Park

2011-03-20T11:13:00.005-04:00

Tunnel 19 (Silver Run) photo from Outdoor Travels
North Bend State Park, in Ritchie County, West Virginia, is named for the horseshoe curve of the North Fork of the Hughes River. The park features fishing streams, a 305 acre lake, hiking trails, and critters galore. And it sports a trio of West Virginny wraiths.

The first is from an old wildcatter's tale. Back at the turn of the century, the parkland was still private property and the site of several oil wells. One of the rigs, pumping near the current Jug Handle Campground, blew up, ripping one of the roughnecks to bits. His brother workers gathered up his remains and buried the unfortunate soul - except for his head, which they never found.

A small dirt lane known as Park Road was serviced by a turn-of-the-century jitney driver, who rode the well workers to and from their jobs. One day he felt a bounce while driving his wagon, and looked back to see who was bumming a free ride. It was the bloody figure of a headless man, who we assume was looking for a lift back home. Good luck with that, although he must have made it to wherever he wanted to go, as he's not been seen since.

Then there's the sad saga of blind Ed Koons, who lived near what is now the park entrance. Not only was he sightless, but married to a true shrew, with the mother-in-law also sharing the crib. Aye carumba! Life was not very kind to Ed, and having had his fill, he tossed a rope over a tree, slipped his head in the noose and hung himself.

According to local legend, Ed Koon is still hanging around. To this day, people have reported seeing his body dangling from that tree, outlined by their headlights. Park pedestrians have claimed that they've seen his spook on the gravel path leading to the lodge, near the spot of his sad ending.

Teens parking near the park entrance - it's a local lover's lane - reported hearing pounding on their vehicles, and when they got out to see what was up, all they found were handprints on their car. Most suspect that the prints belong to Koon, probably frustrated that others have the kind of relationship with their girls that he never enjoyed in life (or maybe he's just being ornery, who knows?)

Today, the state park is known for its 72 miles of rail trails, a series of old railroad beds and tunnels that are now used for hiking and biking. It's Tunnel 19 (the Silver Run Tunnel), where Ritchie County's most popular ghost is said to roam.

First, a little cemetery lore. There's an old graveyard at the top of the hill by the tunnel entrance. It was the final stop for workers who lost their lives building the tunnel, and is supposed to be a very active paranormal spot. But that's not the headliner.

A "Lady In White" has been seen in the tunnel, going back to railroad days and continuing into the present. The tunnel itself has cold spots and is claimed to look illuminated inside without any light source. Her story, in brief:

A woman in a white gown had ridden the train to Silver Run to meet her fiancee and get married. She disappeared after leaving the train; no one had ever heard of her whereabouts since. None of the locals actually knew, or at least remembered, who she was, but vague recollections of a fatal fall from the train platform, jilted brides and foul play were roiled once again from the dusty past.

It was widely assumed that she was the alleged lady in white.

In the 1940's, the skeleton of a woman, still dressed in white shreds, was found stuffed in the chimney of a long deserted house on the outskirts of town, and that seemed to answer their questions. The remains were given a proper church burial, and after that, she seemed at peace and the lady in white faded into legend.

Or did she? Bikers going through the Silver Run tunnel occasionally report hearing a train whistle and seeing white orbs. And some locals say that on a half-moon night, sometimes the filmy figure of a lady in white can be seen gliding along the old railbed by the Silver Run tunnel...

Tamarack Swamp

2011-03-13T15:22:00.018-04:00

Tamarack Swamp photo from the Pennsylvania Department of Conservation and Natural Resources
The Tamarack Swamp (actually, it's a bog; geologists know the difference, H&H doesn't) is located within Sproul State Forest in Clinton County and contains one of the most unique natural habitats in Western Pennsylvania. It features its namesake conifer among a varied wetlands' collection of bird and plant life, and even includes one flower that munches on insects.

It was originally a logging and gas drilling site; now it seems to be the home of high school keggers. But it's also the origin of the legend of George. Here's the story...

There's a ribbon of a trail that winds through the swamp. One day two school buses tried to pass one another in opposite directions. The road was too narrow, and the vehicles bumped and splashed into the Tamarack. According to local lore, several-to-many of the kiddies lost their lives.

After the accident, one the drivers - yep, George - returned to the scene of the fatal wreck, and filled with remorse, hanged himself off one of the trio of bridges that spanned the lane.

Legend has it that if you drive over each bridge and chant "GEORGE, GEORGE, GEORGE," you'll hear thrashing under the bridges from the driver's tormented spirit. It's also claimed that you'll hear the voices of small children out in the swamp and your car will be covered with their handprints. To make the adventure even dicier, cars were said to stall on the bridges, making them easy prey for George.

A popular game among the area youth is to dare one other to get out of the car, run down the dark road, and make it back to the car before George tears them to pieces. We'd guess with an attitude like that, he obviously prefers to do his eternal penance in solitude.

In fact, the footrace with George is pretty much the only game in town now. The state closed the trail to vehicles, making it accessible only to pedestrian traffic.

Some people report that the rusting hulks of the buses still remain, but what they see are actually the remnants of a couple of old campers parked out in the swamp. There's also an unsubstantiated tale alleging that a small town once existed there, but sank in the swamp. Apparitions and the sounds of former residents are claimed to float through the bog.

Another thing that remains unexplained is the UFO sightings reported by swamp visitors. The Tamarack appears to be an intergalactic tourist trap, too.

So if you're around the parkland, stop by and see if George is under his bridge or if a UFO is hovering. If not, maybe you'll at least get to see a swamp mosquito or two become a snack for the Tamarack flora.

Point Lookout Park

2011-03-05T17:35:00.006-05:00

Point Lookout - Civil War POW Camp
image from Southern Maryland On Line
Point Lookout is a Maryland state park at the southern tip of St. Mary's County, resting on a peninsula formed by the confluence of Chesapeake Bay and the Potomac River. It began as part of St. Michael's Manor, one of three manors owned by Leonard Calvert, the first Governor of the Maryland colony. The site also features an old lighthouse; hence its name.

The peaceful park has a not-so-peaceful past. Native Americans raided its early settlers, the Redcoats and Colonials had several skirmishes there, and it was a hospital and huge POW camp during the Civil War.

It housed over 50,000 reb prisoners over the span of the war's duration, sometimes holding 20,000 prisoners at a time in a fifty acre tent city. There are large, mainly Civil War era grave sites, some of which are now underwater. It's also been the scene of many shipwrecks over the centuries.

There are Confederate spooks galore. One had its picture taken in 1970 during a seance in the lighthouse, casually leaning against the wall sporting a sash and sword. Another has been spotted running across the road from the old infirmary site, reliving his escape attempt.

Visitors report apparitions of gray-suited soldiers that suddenly appear in front of their vehicles and then disappear. Some have seen a southern soldier sitting in the back seat of their car, disappearing when they passed the Confederate cemetery near the park entrance.

Tourists have noted ghostly sightings throughout the park. One road apparently has a legion of troops marching on it; no one has ever seen them, but dogs will stop and growl, hackles up, quite often when by the lane. A general officer is said to haunt the fort proper; his faint voice is often heard and sometimes his shadowy figure has been seen. There are also the obligatory orb pictures.

One famous tale recounts an old lady trudging by the picnic area by the shore, looking lost. A bypasser saw her and asked if she needed any help; he thought she may have dropped something. She replied no, but did the man know where the Taylor Cemetery might be? He didn't.

The Good Samaritan mentioned his encounter to a park ranger in passing, and found out that the Taylor Family Cemetery (the Taylor's owned the property that the lighthouse was built on) had been near where the lady was seen, though it's exact location has been lost to the mists of time.

Some snooping found that one of the folks buried in the now gone graveyard was Elizabeth Taylor. Over the years, someone had stolen her headstone; the grave marker was later found in a local hotel by a Point Lookout ranger. It's thought by some that Elizabeth won't find her final rest until the stone is replaced over her remains. Others believe she's looking for the graves of her children.

But there's no question that the park's spook central is the Point Lookout Lighthouse. It was built in 1830 and expanded in 1883 to allow room for a second lightkeeper and the families. The lighthouse was manned and functioning until the Navy purchased it in 1965, and an automated light tower was placed offshore. Its final keeper left the structure in 1981.

It still stands, and is unlocked for the public occasionally by special request or for its annual open house. (The building is being rehabbed, so it may become more accessible in the near future.) Not surprisingly, much of the unexplained paranormal activity happened after the lighthouse was decommissioned by the Navy, although there were several tales passed on by the lighthouse tenders.

There are lots of reports of the usual ghostly phenomena. They include snoring in the kitchen, voices heard both inside and outside of the lighthouse, cold spots, pungent odors, footsteps, orbs, glimpses of ghostly forms, the sounds of happy singing coming from the stairwell and conversations being held in empty rooms.

Famed ghost hunter Dr. Hans Holzer checked out the place in the eighties. He and his team recorded 24 different voices in the building, both male and female, taped saying things like "Fire if they get too close to you," apparently by an old Union guard suspecting rebel skulduggery, and "Let us not take objection to what they are doing," which must have lessened some of the angst felt by the investigators poking into the realm of the undead.

One voice was believed to be that of Ann Davis, wife of the first keeper, who said "this is my home." Her spirit is said to have been seen standing at the top of the stairs in a white blouse and long blue skirt. And she's far from the only apparition to call the lighthouse home.

Beside Ms. Davis and the Confederate dandy, two transparent figures were sighted in the basement. The ghostly figure of a young man peeking into the lighthouse window has been spotted. The spirit of a silver-haired woman in a gray dress identified as "Rue" has been reported in the attic and on the grounds.

This final tale is the most eerie. A park ranger that lived in the lighthouse (its current use) heard pounding on his door during a severe storm. He opened the door and a man floated inside before disappearing. He shared his weird encounter with the other park rangers, and a little investigating began.

It didn't take long to figure out what happened. An 1878 newspaper article noted that a body had washed ashore after the steamer Express capsized. The crewman matched the ranger's description to a tee. He was Second Mate J. Heaney, who was buried on the beach near the spot where his body was discovered.

He's become a harbinger of sorts. Heaney is said to sometimes appear on the beach in a soaked uniform before a major storm hits the area.

Do the rangers buy into the spooked out stories? It's reported that they at least keep track of the park's strange sightings and reports, and conduct a ghost tour each October. After all, they're never exactly sure who - or what - they'll bump into at Point Lookout Park.

South Park Spooks

2011-02-25T10:12:00.001-05:00

Corvette Tunnel from Bridges of Allegheny County
South Park in Allegheny County covers 2,013 acres, spreading across the South Hills municipalities of Bethel Park and South Park. It has a host of activities and its trails, pool, rink, and golf course draw visitors by the carload.

It's also a popular place to cruise - H&H spent half his teenaged life loafing there - and when the sun goes down, the spirits come out. There are three particularly enduring eerie tales that are woven into the Park's lore.

One involves the old Sulli-Nesta ("Sully's") pool. It operated until 1977 as a segregated black swimming area, when it was finally filled in after the main Corrigan Drive pool became integrated. At least two people drowned there and the barn hops outside the pool often ended with post-dance brawls. Now it's best noted as the site for the Hundred Acres Manor Haunted House during the Halloween season.

Staffers and visitors there are treated to several spirits. Among several sightings, there are two noted reports.

One employee saw a figure running across the room and gave it chase. When he caught up to him, he realized that it was sunk up to its' ankles in the floor, as if it was running in shallow water. Then the figure disappeared.

The most renown spook is an elderly gent who worked in the old pool's pumphouse. He's been spotted by guests as they came out of the haunted maze.

In the old days, that spot was the edge of the pool where he used to sit during his lunch break. Woman are particularly uneasy around him. They feel him watching their every move and sometimes the sensations are so intense they won't work the area alone.

The sightings are mostly in the summer, maybe because that's when the pool was open, or maybe because the commercial haunts mask the activity of the real ghosts. There are also sounds of doors opening and closing, unexplainable animal-like noises, and voices heard in conversation.

Corvette Tunnel on Piney Fork Road is another spooked out place. Depending who you ask, it's either just under or sharing the infamous Green Man's Tunnel. This spot is haunted by the spirit of a girl that shuffled off this mortal coil when she slammed her 'Vette into another car while drag racing.

If you drive through at the stroke of midnight, it's said that you can hear her screams, screeching tires, racing motors, and see the headlights of the Corvette.

There's also a small creek running alongside the tunnel. Its tale is that a man killed his wife and disposed of her body by chopping it up and tossing it in that creek. If you're walking through the tunnel, the story goes that her invisible spirit clutches at your legs, begging for help.

Finally, its most famed legend involves the Green Man's Tunnel. A hideously scarred green man is reputed to pop up and frighten the romance out of young couples; the tale is based loosely on the real life experiences of Ray Robinson. H&H has the full tale here; it deserved its own post.

Jenny Jump Park/Shades Of Death Road

2011-02-18T19:00:00.009-05:00

Jenny Jump Park's Ghost Lake from NJ State Parks
Jenny Jump State Forest is located in New Jersey's Warren County along the rolling terrain of the Jenny Jump Mountain Range. Vistas of the Highlands and the Kittatinny Mountains - which has its own set of eerie legends - to the west, and scenic views of the Great Meadows in the east await the visitor who climbs the narrow path leading to the top of the peak.

Rocky outcroppings and boulders line the trail, evidence of the great glaciers that once covered the site. There are 14 miles of trail, scenic views galore, hunting and fishing lands...and the spirit of Jenny, the lore of Ghost Lake, and the legends of neighboring Shades of Death Road and Lenape Lane.

The namesake's story has it that Jenny was a nine year old girl from back in the settler days who lived in a small white house below a cliff. One day the child was picking berries on the rocks above when an Indian surprised her.

In fear she cried to her father below for help. He responded, "Jump, Jenny Jump!" The child leaped from the cliff to her death (it's unsaid, but we assume poppa was below and tried to catch her. Oooops.)

Her small figure, it's claimed, can still be seen wandering around the cliff. She's been described differently; some say she's a little girl in white that skips along the trail, while others describe her as being in a dark blue dress with white sleeves and light hair.

Ghost Lake was created in the early 1900's when two men dammed a creek that ran through the narrow valley between houses they had just built. They came up with the lake's name because of the wraithlike vapors they saw rising off it in the early mornings, and called the vale Haunted Hollow; both are part of the park.

Visitors report that no matter what time of night they visit the lake, the sky above it always seems as bright as twilight. Several have sighted ghosts in the area, especially in a deserted (and now demolished) old cabin across the lake from Shades of Death Road. The spooks are supposedly the victims of long ago murders.

As far as the lake itself, one legend says that the early settlers killed the Indians and threw them into the lake. This seems pretty unlikely, considering that the lake doesn't date back that far in time.

A more likely tale says that the mists are the ghosts of Indians floating up the mountain from an old burial ground beneath the waters. Nearby is a cave known as the Fairy Hole, a Lenape site that may have held religious significance to the Native Americans. Now it's sacred to teen party crowds and graffiti taggers.

Then we have Shades of Death Road which runs along the border of the park by the lake. Why the name? Well, pick your poison; no one really knows the origin.

Some say it's named for the guys murdered in the Ghost Lake cabin. Other theories cite malarial swamps, murderdous highwaymen who were hung along the road, a long history of killings, attacks by wild animals, or fatal car accidents that happened along the dark, twisty lane at night. It has its shades, too.

A popular saga of urban mythology involves Lenape Lane, an unpaved private road that is little more than a driveway to some homes that ends at a farm house.

People report that the area is always chilly, gives one a sense of foreboding, and there are claims of seeing apparitions on it.

Legend also has it that nighttime visitors to Lenape Lane can sometimes spot an orb of white light (other versions of the story claim the orbs are the headlights of a phantom car) that appears near the end of the road and chases cars back out to Shades Of Death. There's also the tale of the eerie red light.

The red light is from a reflector nailed in a tree in the middle of the lane, meant to warn drivers that the road bears right. Legend says that if you circle around the tree and drive down the road again at midnight and see the red light shine in the mirror, the driver will die.

Our guess is that the legend was started and spread by the homeowners on Lenape Lane, who have had it up to here with the kids laying rubber up and down their narrow lane at all hours of the night.

Another bit of lore tells of a bridge over the Flatbrook River on Old Mine Road off of the Shades of Death. If drivers stop after midnight with their high beams on and honk their horns three times, they'll be greeted by the ghosts of two youngsters who were run over while playing on the road.

The bridge is no longer accessible by car; a new span has been built next to it. You can still get to the spooked-out bridge on foot. Maybe if you have a good set of flashlights and a vuvuzela, you can still coax the spirits out to visit...

The most enduring legend from Shades of Death Road is that of the Native American spirit guide who takes the shape of a deer and appears along the road at night. If drivers don't avoid him as he crosses the road and crash into the phantom whitetail, they will soon get into a serious accident with a real deer.

Our suggestion is to take a day trip to Ghost Lake if you're into communing with the spirits. While the Shades of Death lore is appealing, it's beyond old to the homeowners, with the noise and stolen street signs making their lives spooky. And most people think the combination of its name and unlit, tree-lined back road make-up are the genesis of its tales.

The James Wolfe Sculpture Trail/Johnstown Inclined Plane

2011-02-11T19:00:00.000-05:00

Johnstown Inclined Plane
(photo from the Johnstown Area Heritage Association)
Built in 1891, the Johnstown Inclined Plane was constructed as a "lifesaver" after the Johnstown Flood of 1889, meant to carry people from the river valley to the safety of the heights above in an emergency while getting workers to and from the Cambria Iron Works and Rolling Hills mine.

It served its purpose well during the 1936 Flood when it carried 4,000 men, women and children to safety atop Yoder Hill when flood waters again submerged the City.

In over 80 years of operation the Inclined Plane Railway has carried over 40 million passengers and countless vehicles. The Guinness Book of Records rates it as "The steepest vehicular inclined plane in the world."

One of its highlights is the James Wolfe Sculpture Trail. This popular hiking trail winds past the Incline and along the Stony Brook River.

The 1-1/2 mile long trail climbs 500' along the hillside between the top and bottom of the Plane. Spaced along the way are eight steel sculptures created by sculptor James Wolfe.

On July 10, 1902, 112 miners lost their lives in an explosion in the Cambria Iron Company's nearby Rolling Mills mine. People have claimed to see apparitions of phantom miners walking the James Wolfe Sculpture trail that leads up to the mine entrance.

There have been sightings of a lone miner on the trail who disappears as you approach him, and of a pair of miners holding their lunch buckets at the base of the Johnstown Inclined Plane, still waiting for their ride. The spook of a young boy has been reportedly seen there, too.

The sightings date back even further. It's alleged that there was an Indian burial ground near the top of the Plane, and floating lights have been seen dancing around the Native American's final resting place.

So if you get to visit J-Town and ride the Plane to its impressive observation deck, keep your eyes peeled. You may see more below you than the Stony Brook river valley.

Washington Square Park

2011-02-04T19:00:00.008-05:00

Hangman's Elm - photo by Srosenstock for Wikipedia Commons
Washington Square Park is among the elite of New York City's 1,900 public greens. The ten-acre site, which also serves as the quad of NYU, is a landmark in the Manhattan neighborhood of Greenwich Village, and a magnet for marchers, the fashionable and the bohemian.

But when the park was dedicated in 1826, its pedigree wasn't all Joe Cool. Its foundations are an old Native American burial grounds, and like many NYC parks, Washington Square was built over a potters field of the graves first of the unwanted and unknown, and later the victims of the yellow fever epidemic of the early 1800s.

It was also the scene of weekend festivities in the mid-eighteenth century, when it was an execution grounds. The crowds would turn out and picnic while the criminals of the era were hung from the elms in the morning and tossed into a common grave in the afternoon.

A legend passed on in many tourist guides says that the large tree at the northwest corner of the park, honored with a plaque specifying it as the "Hangman's Elm," was the old hanging tree.

Unfortunately for the legend, said tree is located on the other side of the now-diverted Minetta Creek, then the dividing line for the execution grounds, and apparently stood in the back garden of a private house during the necktie party days.

Later, it was thought that the park area was used as a formal cemetery, with tombstones and all, for the dearly departed huddled masses. All in all, it's estimated that 15-20,000 bodies lay under the park's greenery and landmark fountain and arch.

So hey, no surprise that the park has become somewhat famous for reports of apparitions walking around the park during the bewitching hours. Some speculate that the spooks are from the poorly buried Potter Field remains, searching for their bones that have been broken and scattered from their shallow graves.

Other stories say that ghostly figures still sway in the breeze from the sturdy branches of the Hangman's Elm late at night (hey, maybe they did hang people in backyards).

The most famous is the ghost of Rose Butler, the last woman hung in Washington Square in 1820. A maid accused of torching her master's house, she was executed for a fire that later investigations showed to be almost surely started accidentally. Her spirit has been seen swinging from the Elm on stormy nights - when else?

Ghost hunters have photos of orbs galore populating the park.

In justice, the karma of the place may be the source of its lore. New York.com says said that “the place just feels haunted.” So one night, after an afternoon of watching street theatre and sipping Starbucks while playing chess, hang out til the midnight hour. Then you'll discover if the spooks are real or not...

Ricketts Glen State Park

2011-01-30T09:38:00.010-05:00

Tuscarora Falls in Ricketts Glen State Park
(photo by Dave Pidgeon of Compass Points)
Ricketts Glen is a National Natural Landmark known for its old-growth forest and many waterfalls along Kitchen Creek. It's carved out of five townships in three counties: Sugarloaf in Columbia County, Fairmount and Ross in Luzerne County, and Colley and Davidson in Sullivan County. The burg of Ricketts, 30 miles west of Scranton on the Sullivan County border, has been a ghost town since 1920.

The park area was once home to the Susquehannocks - who had their own local tales of evil spirits lurking on the nearby Sheshequin Path - and later Lenape and Shawnee before being pretty much cleared of Native Americans after the French & Indian War and Revolution.

It was named after Civil War Colonel R. Bruce Ricketts, whose family bought the land a generation earlier. The ex-officer ran a hotel and over time either owned or controlled 80,000+ acres of land in this area through his lumber companies, which clear-cut nearly all the property (and, in fact, the state still allows controlled lumbering in the park). His family sold 10,000 acres to the state after his death, and PA opened the park in 1944.

There are a couple of spooky tales associated with the isolated area. Here's the better known local lore:

First is the legend of the "ghost tree." During the lumber boom days, a boy was cutting down a tree when it toppled on him, causing his death. A sapling sprouted where the boy died, and grew into a white tree that has never produced a single leaf, even to this day. It's also said that nothing will grow near the ghost tree.

Lake Jean's story is a bit spookier. A boy fell through the ice, and his parents, watching from a shore side cabin, rushed to his rescue. They too cracked the ice and dropped into the frigid lake; all three drowned. Since then, it's been said that strange lights appear over the lake, and that the faces of the family can be seen in its waters.

Locals also claim to hear voices in the wind. There is no cemetery in the area; many think the voices are the laments of all the restless spirits that were never properly laid to rest, dating from the Native-American to lumberjack days.

So hey, if you're ever visiting Pennsylvania's great northeast, take in Ricketts Glen State Park. It's a beautiful site, brimming with history, meandering trails, waterfalls, scenic spots...and a smidgeon of spookiness.

George Rogers Clark Park

2011-01-22T18:30:00.007-05:00

Fort at George Rogers Clark Park
OK, first, let's not get lost. This isn't the national park in Indiana or the City park in Louisville, but a local park in Clark County, Ohio, by Springfield. Still, it's an impressive little area; they pack a lot of attractions into its 250 acres.

This is where the Shawnee village of Peckuwe (Piquia) and a small British stockade stood until Colonel George Rogers Clark drove the combined Shawnee, Delaware, Miami, and Wyandot tribes out of Clark County on August 8th, 1780.

The Battle of Peckuwe was the largest action of the American Revolution west of the Allegheny Mountains. Standing beside the local Miami, the other tribes had been pushed out of Pennsylvania by the white settlers and were trying to draw a line in the sand in Ohio.

Beside fishing, picnicking and other outdoor goodies, the park features the George Rogers Clark Memorial and the Davidson Interpretive Center, which gives a history of the battle and the era. The Hertzler Museum is there, too; more on that later. In 1980, a triangular fort and blockhouse, modeled after the larger one in the village, were built. There's a lotta Ohio history on display there.

Of course, shades of the big battle's participants have been reported; Indians, colonial soldiers, and even ol' George himself have been sighted roaming the fields. Hey, the spirit of frontiersman Dan'l Boone, a long time foe of the Shawnee and active in Ohio Valley campaigning against them, is supposed to be a ghostly park visitor.

The star spook attraction may or may not be the Hertzler House. Daniel Hertzler, whose land the park sits on, built the home in 1854 for his wife and ten children, and was killed there in 1867 by robbers looking for the banker's rumored cache of cash.

It's now a museum and supposed to be haunted by Hertzler, whose murderers were never captured. The legend is that a face can be seen peeking out the window from the road.

It's believed by conspiracy theorists that tour guides avoid talking about the lore for fear that people will stop visiting the park. Others say the guides avoid the topic because it's hogwash and they don't want blamed for noisy ghost hunters nebbing through the neighbor's windows at night in search of ectoplasm. Both sound plausible enough.

If you ever get to visit the park, there are exhibits aplenty to learn the Ohio Valley's colonial history. And if you're lucky, you may even get to see some of the folk who made that history at the same time.

McConnell's Mill State Park

2011-01-17T11:47:00.003-05:00

McConnell's Mill from The Allegheny Front
Located in Lawrence County, McConnell's Mill State Park's 2,546 acres are claimed to be one of Pennsylvania's more heavily haunted areas. It's home to sheer cliffs and the swiftly flowing Slippery Rock Creek, and many outdoor enthusiasts have lost their lives rappelling or riding the white water.

And if sudden death isn't enough to ramp up some bad juju, there are also some long time spirits associated with the park.

One is a worker who was killed when the machinery at McConnell's Mill (a grist mill that was in operation from 1852-1928) acted up. He still walks the same path to and from work as he did when he was alive, more or less a century ago.

It's claimed that if you get there at the right time, you can see him walk along the path with his lunch bucket, go into the mill, turn the lights on, and then scream as he relives that fateful day.

There's also the tale of caretaker Moses Whorton, who died at the turn of the century and still patrols MM, chasing poorly-behaving visitors away from the parkland he loved and protected during his life. A freed slave, he lived in the park in a cottage by the mill, back when Thomas McConnell still owned the land.

He stayed there for three decades, beginning in 1880, and it was the only home he knew since he was 20. It's said that if he's needed, a honk of a car horn by the old mill will bring him back.

Another bit of lore involves a young girl who died in an accident at the McConnell's Mill Covered Bridge (built in 1874) by the mill. If you park on the bridge, turn off your lights and honk your car horn three times, her vision will appear in your rear view mirror. When you turn around to see her, she's gone.

(BTW, H&H strongly recommends against sitting in the middle of a covered bridge at night with the lights off, unless you're looking to join the restless departed).

Hell's Hollow - what a great name - is the site of a long ago kiln built near a small waterfall, and is also said to host some spirit visitors.

However, bummer though it may be, it appears that all of the old park's tales are mere urban legends. A variety of paranormal hunters have dragged their recorders and vids into the woodlands and returned with nary an orb.

But hey, if you're ever stomping through McConnell's Mill and spot Moses, the old mill hand, or a little girl in your rear view mirror, give us yell. These stories are too good to be made up.

Radisson Plaza Lord Baltimore

2011-01-08T11:59:00.001-05:00

Radisson Plaza Lord Baltimore Hotel
The Radisson hotel was named after George Calvert, aka Lord Baltimore and the founding father of Maryland. The 23-story hotel, opened in 1928, was built in the Art Deco style popular during the decade and was the largest in the state at the time. It's a historic landmark hotel and a member of the Historic Hotels of America.

How haunted is the old building? Hard to say. It's spooky lore seems to stem from the keyboard of Paul Schroeder, who wrote “A Haunted Hotel in Maryland” for TravelParanormal.com.

One story involved an alleged suicide on the 19th floor, and the elevators’ constant trips up there at night, with no one ever getting in or out of the car.

Another sighting, not reported by Schroeder, is of gangster-type spooks haunting the Lord Baltimore's halls, apparently reliving the high life of their wise guy days.

Guests, particularly those sensitive to the paranormal, have complained of nightmares, touchings, and other signs of presence from the other side.

A long-time employee, Fran Carter, was Schroeder's mother lode of tales. One story is of three people standing in the moonlit ballroom, each positioned in front of a window, gazing at the ceiling.

Carter passed within feet of the trio, even noting the brass buttons and ascot of one of the men. Likely assuming they were checking out the hall for an event, she offered to turn on the lights. As soon as she hit the switch, they disappeared.

She also related that she saw a little girl wearing a long cream colored dress and black shiny shoes run by, bouncing a red ball and going through an open door into the hotel hallway. Carter chased after her, thinking she was lost. The hallway was deserted.

Turning around, she spied a well-dressed older couple in tux and gown. Thinking they were looking for the runaway child, she pointed down the hall. The couple vanished in front of her eyes.

That was on the dreaded nineteenth floor, and that little girl is the star ghostie of the hotel. She's been reported several times as a screaming child in a long gown, crying and rocking herself back and forth. Whether she has a part to play in the suicide tale, no one knows.

If you ever visit Charm City, get a room on the nineteenth floor of the Radisson Plaza Lord Baltimore. You can let us know if Paul Schroeder and Fran Carter are right.

2010-12-31T18:54:00.001-05:00

Cliff Park Inn

2010-12-31T16:46:00.003-05:00

Cliff Park Inn image from Bestweekends
The Cliff Park Inn, located in Milford, Pike County, dates from a land grant given in 1627 by Charles I when the Buchanan family came to America from Scotland. The one room cabin became the Buchanan Homestead in 1820.

In 1900, Annie Buchanan started the Cliff Park House, named for the 900' cliff vistas the estate offered above the Delaware Gap. During the early days of movies, studios used the Cliff Park as a location because of the stunning view (and the golf course, a popular attraction during non-shooting periods). Many stars such as Mary Pickford and Douglas Fairbanks Jr. graced the resort.

It also has some spooks, many known by name such as Fanny and Big George. People have reported the presence of Walt, the former maintenance man. The "Lady in Brown," supposedly a member of a 1920's film crew, has been spotted gliding down the main staircase, going out the door and across the golf course to the cliff where she was reputed to have leaped to her death.

The Inn's one-time Caribbean chef, Uncle Stew, still holds court in the kitchen. He's been known to throw cans of pineapple juice at cooks he thinks are sous'ing below his demanding standards. In fact, several of the Inn's spooks are associated with the hotel as employees, and seem to aim their otherworldly approbation to current goof-off workers.

The most famous spirit is Sally in Room #10. The stories tell of eerie noises, voices, orbs, seeing her outline lying on the bed and her apparition popping up throughout the Inn. It's said that when you leave the room that Sally will reopen the door if she wants you to stay and slam it shut if she doesn't. So a word to the wise if you're sharing Room 10 with Sally...

The place is locally renown for its paranormal performance, being visited by Penn Valley Paranormal, Paranormal Investigators of the Poconos, and North East PA Paranormal, as well as getting some love in "Pocono Ghost Legends - Book 2" by Charles Adams III and David Siebold.

Another log is tossed on the spooky fire every Halloween with the Inn's "Tales In the Parlor" event, when it hosts stories of local ghosts, legends and lore of the past.

The Lowe Hotel

2010-12-25T01:26:00.000-05:00

The Lowe Hotel
Point Pleasant, West Virginia, is a hotbed of paranormal lore. It's home to the infamous Mothman, and the victim of Cornstalk's Curse.

Shawnee chief Cornstalk's plague on the area has been blamed for many calamities over the years, while Mothman managed to get a book and movie made of his shenanigans, and even has an annual festival held in the town.

And if you go, look for Mothman's statue. Then look across the street, and you'll spot the only place to stay in Point Pleasant, the Lowe Hotel. It more than holds its own in the spooked-out category.

The hotel opened up in 1901 as the Spencer Hotel, and was known for its ballroom and as a gathering place for the upper crust. The Lowes bought it in 1929 and renamed it after themselves. Rush and Ruth Finley bought the hotel in 1990, and are still in the process of rehabbing the old grand dame.

The more common paranormal experiences at the hotel are the usual things reported from old buildings: loud noises, icy blasts of air, and feelings of presence in guests' rooms, halls and the staircase. While the human eye can't see anything to explain the sense of presence, photographs of orbs have been captured during the experiences.

Starting from the top, the fourth floor features the ballroom and an unfinished storage area. One of the items kept upstairs is Mrs. Lowe’s cane rocking chair. The Finley's daughter watched the chair began to rock by itself, while other staff members say the chair moves around the room by itself.

But the third floor is where the main ghost action is.

The third floor suite hosts the ghost of Jimbo, aka Captain Jim, who appears to guests and tells them that he's waiting on his riverboat, the River Explorer.

A tall, thin man with a beard, whose reflection has been seen by many in the mirror, haunts room 314. It's said that he's none other than Sid Hatfield of Hatfield/McCoy feud fame.

The bottom two floors are just generally "eerie," but spook-free.

A word of caution - the Lowe Hotel was where the film crew stayed when they taped a Sci-Fi Channel program about Mothman. It's reported that at least one crew member had an experience so spooky that he packed his gear and left the hotel, staying out-of-town across the river in a Days Inn.

2010-12-24T23:31:00.001-05:00

Hotel Conneaut

2010-12-18T14:49:00.005-05:00

Hotel Conneaut
The Hotel Conneaut, called "The Crown Jewel of Lake Conneaut" in Crawford County, dates back to 1903. It features 150 rooms, old time, turn-of-the-century ambiance, and as to be expected by its vintage, some long-time guests who checked in but never checked out.

The most famous apparition is Bride Elizabeth. Her and her guy were honeymooning at the Hotel on April 27, 1943, when a terrible fire occurred. Lightning struck the hotel's wooden roof during a thunderstorm, and it burst into flame.

Legend has it that her hubby, thinking Elizabeth had already escaped, fled the building to find her. But Elizabeth was still inside the hotel desperately searching for her husband and quickly became trapped by the flames and perished. (or maybe she looking for the fire escape at the end of the hall. She hasn't told us yet.)

They were in room 321, and she's said to mainly wander in the hallway of third floor, still in her wedding gown, trailing a phantom scent of jasmine while softly sobbing. The room itself is the site of orbs, whispered conversation, messed up linens, water that runs for no reason and windows that open by themselves.

Elizabeth doesn't limit herself to the third floor, though - she's been reported all over the hotel and even in the adjoining amusement park. Those whispered voices have been heard all over the building, allegedly the otherworldly playback of the last conversations between Elizabeth and her husband.

She's become so famous that the hotel restaurant/bar is called Elizabeth's Dining Room & Spirit Lounge in her honor (heck, she's even mentioned in Wikipedia!), and her "ghost book" is prominent in the hotel lobby.

But she shares the space with a bevy of spooks. There's lore regarding an old chef who dismembered a butcher in the kitchen. A spectral couple can be seen dancing in the first floor Grand Ballroom. A soldier has been spotted in a tree on the Hotel lot. The spirit of a former hotel employee, John, may join you in the lobby.

And there are tales of little Angelina, a child who legend claims died long ago when her tricycle either tumbled down a flight of stairs or off the hotel balcony. She now rides her trike on the porch of the Hotel, crashing into people. Angelina has also been spotted in the halls, looking for a playmate.

The Hotel's haunted history is chronicled in The Ghosts Of Hotel Conneaut And Conneaut Lake Park by Carrie Andra Pavlik.

Colonel Taylor's Inn

2010-12-11T00:01:00.006-05:00

Colonel Taylor Inn
The Cambridge “House on the Hill” was built in the 1878 by Colonel Joseph D. Taylor, a Congressman, Civil War veteran, teacher, lawyer, bank and newspaper owner, and prosecutor. Taylor was connected enough that his home was visited by Presidents Garfield, Hayes and McKinley.

Now his Victorian mansion, all 9,000 square feet, 21 rooms, 6 baths, 11 fireplaces and three stories of it, is an inn/B&B that's listed on the National Register. The owners rent the four rooms on the second floor; it seems like all the other rooms are already filled - with spooks.

Oh, there's the usual ghostly mischief: people see indistinct shapes, footsteps are caused by unseen entities, voices of little girls and conservations are heard where there are no people, objects are randomly moved around, and beds rock for no reason. But that should be expected; there's a whole family of spirits roaming the manse.

One spirit is that of an impish eight year old boy in a sailor suit who gives the paying guests raspberries and treats the inn's household items like his personal toy box.

The servants quarters on the top floor have their spectral guests, too. The image of a servant girl tripping down the narrow stairs and spilling her tray is often reported. A heavy-set woman has been seen in the old servants sitting room, wearing an apron and tut-tutting; apparently she doesn't approve of the room's transformation into an exercise area.

Women dressed in gowns have been seen on the landing of the main stairway and on the first floor, going room to room through the walls. The three woman are perhaps Colonel Taylor's two wives and daughter; other apparitions seen throughout the inn are thought to be of the Colonel's children. It's a long-running family affair.

Of course, the Colonel has free passage; after all, it is his home. The aroma of his pipe tobacco can be easily detected wafting through the air of the non-smoking B&B. His footsteps can be heard plodding up and down the steps. He's been seen in the bedrooms, checking on people. The Colonel seems to like his house being active and is considered a sort of guardian angel for the inn.

And hey, the B&B's shadows aren't even all human. Samantha the ghostly tabby, a dearly departed pet of the current owners, pads along its old haunts on the third floor, flitting through the walls on its way to her earthly hangout, the foot of the bed.

If you want to know more, you have two choices: motor out to Ohio's Guernsey County and get a room, or read all about it in Chris Woodward's "Haunted Ohio V."

The Valley Hotel

2010-12-04T17:13:00.001-05:00

Valley Hotel
The Valley Hotel in Jefferson Hills, Allegheny County, was built in 1863 and known as the Hotel Granger, named after its owners. It served passengers of the Pittsburgh, Virginia & Charleston Railroad, miners, and riverboat crews.

It's also sited near the Mon Valley US Steel works at Clairton, and the Granger/Valley Hotel has been the watering hole of choice for workmen looking to wash away the dust after a long eight hours.

The New England & Coal Valley Roads building now houses a bar, and is noted for its live music sets. It's also built a rep for its spooks.

The place is alleged to be filled with spirits and their phenomena, including poltergeist activity, faces in the mirror of people that aren't there and glowing lights. Things disappear from behind the bar and in drawers, then reappear weeks later.

Guests have heard voices and footsteps coming from empty spots in the bar. A worker quit after hearing the voices of a non-existent man and women arguing in the basement.

The Pittsburgh Paranormal Society investigated the place, and came away with pictures of orbs moving around the bar and a spirit beside one of the team members. A mirror shattered when they were in the basement. They came away believers.

So if you'd like to share a beer with a hard-rockin' indie band and a ghost, the Valley Hotel is your kinda joint.

Otesaga Hotel

2010-11-28T20:13:00.006-05:00

Otesaga Hotel
Upstate New York's Otesaga Hotel in Cooperstown was built in 1911 on the southern shore of Otsego Lake, the noted "Glimmerglass" of native James Fenimore Cooper’s novels. Beside swimming and boating, its golf course is also quite popular.

Designed by architect Percy Griffin, the resort was named a "Historic Hotel of America" by the National Trust for Historic Preservation. The Otesaga is the ritzy - and pricey - hangout for local touristas.

And like any century-old hotel worth its oats, the paying guests aren't the only ones hanging out in the building. Otesaga is the Iroquois word for “A Place of Meetings,” and some believe the Otesaga is now the meeting place of the living and the dead.

Staff and guests have reported floating orbs, moving objects and strange voices over the years. Beds made up by the maids on the third floor are found mussed up later. Staff members hear their names being called when no one else is about.

The night watchman regularly reports people walking around the second and third floors when no one is up, and the sound of a music box playing. A guest told the desk clerk that a woman's spook in a dressing gown was floating around her room on the third floor. A spirit couple have been seen walking hand-in-hand down its hallways in turn-of-the-century outfits.

But the most widely known legend is of the spooky children who have been heard running up and down the third floor hallway, noisily playing, giggling and laughing.

From 1920 until 1954, the hotel was also a private academy, the Knox School for Girls. The school suffered through a whooping cough epidemic, and the little girls who succumbed are supposedly frozen in time at the Otesaga and enjoying their childhood to this day.

But not to worry; none of the many apparitions haunting the halls of the Otesaga have any known evil intents; they're considered Casper friendly by one and all.

If you want to find out just how cordial the spooks are, tune into to Syfy Channel's "Ghost Hunters" with The Atlantic Paranormal Society (TAPS). They did a show there that was broadcast during the summer where every investigator experienced an Otesaga paranormal moment.

2010-11-25T07:56:00.003-05:00

Fourscore and Seven...

2010-11-19T23:00:00.003-05:00

Gettysburg National Cemetery image from Obit Magazine
The Gettysburg National Cemetery was dedicated on November 19, 1863. The main speaker at the ceremony was Edward Everett, but history will remember that Abraham Lincoln delivered the Gettysburg Address on that day.

It contains the remains of over 6,000 warriors who served from the Mexican-American War to the present day. 3,512 Union troopers are buried in the cemetery; of these, 979 are unknown soldiers.

But the removal of Confederate dead from the field plots wasn't begun until seven years after the battle. From 1870 to 1873, various Ladies Memorial Associations dug up 3,320 Confederate bodies and reburied them in southern soil. The problem is that about 3,500 graycoats were killed in action and and hundreds more died from their wounds shortly afterward in battlefield hospitals.

Not surprisingly, the most often reported sighting is of three rebel spooks who approach visitors and then drop as if they're shot. Some people believe they died during the fighting at Cemetery Hill, part of which is the site of the graveyard (along with the Everett Cemetery), while others think they are apparitions of rebs whose bodies went unclaimed during the transfer.

The haunting starts before you even reach the cemetery proper, at the Cemetery Lodge, found at the entrance of the graveyard by the intersection of Emmitsburg Road and Baltimore Pike. The building stored all the unclaimed personal belongings of the soldiers killed during the Battle of Gettysburg for decades.

People report hearing footsteps on the stairs, supposedly from entities upset that their belongings were held there instead of being sent home according to some and from a lone sentry patrolling the gatehouse according to others. The cries of babies can be heard outside the structure; there's no reason known for that particular phenomena.

Once you make it past the Lodge, it's said that ghostly footsteps follow some visitors around the cemetery. Many people have reported soldier's spirits roaming the grounds, along with floating orbs and unexplained sounds. You can sometimes hear the sound of phantom Civil War band music being played in the woods of Cemetery Ridge by the Pennsylvania Monument. A blue column of light has been spotted coming from Cemetery Hill.

They also retell the famous haunting by Cavalry Captain William Miller. He was buried at the cemetery, but his stone didn't mention that he had been awarded the Medal of Honor. His spirit restlessly roamed his gravesite for years until a psychic contacted him and found out about the omission. The honor was belatedly added to his marker, and Miller rested peacefully ever after.

One final bit of the paranormal. There are reports that claim that the "Gettysburg Address" is still heard being spoken by Abraham Lincoln seven score and seven years after the event...well, let's hope those words ring forever.

Flanders Hotel and Emily

2010-11-12T19:00:00.007-05:00

"Emily" painting by Tony Troy from Art & Architecture of New Jersey
Hey, if you're heading to the Ocean City boardwalk and pass 719 E. 11th Street, stop in the Flanders Hotel.

Built in 1923, the ritzy hotel was named after the Flanders Field in Belgium made famous by the poem of Canadian Lt. Colonel John McCrae. It was OC's entry into the upper end resort trade, and the building featured speakeasies, grand halls and rooms, and a huge "catacomb" of a basement, all the better to lure some East Coast mob and celeb business from Atlantic City.

It also provided the perfect setting for a guest who wouldn't leave, the "Lady in White" dubbed Emily.

Guests and staffers have reported spotting the spook of a young woman in the hotel for years, her apparition appearing before dozens, if not hundreds, of people. She's been seen all around the Flanders, but mostly in the Hall of Mirrors. Other sites she roamed were the catacombs, the hotel lobby, and the second and fourth floors. And she's always barefoot - hey, it is on the beach.

Emily appears and disappears into walls, plays with door locks, opens and shuts doors, unscrews light bulbs, and for years her laughing and singing have echoed merrily through Flander's halls. The train of a white gown has been seen disappearing around the corner of a corridor. A photograph taken at one of the hotel's weddings captured her misty form; ghost hunters have rolls of orbs on film.

Her presence is so famous that the hotel had a mural of her painted, and named a restaurant after her. Artist Tony Troy painted a portrait of Emily based on the descriptions told by workers and guests of the hotel, and it's hung on the second floor. It shows a young woman with long reddish-brown hair standing by a piano wearing a long white dress and no shoes.

Ghost Tours of Ocean City say that Emily is the shadow of a woman who was a girlfriend of a WWI soldier who never returned from Europe; how fitting for a girl from a place named for Flander's fields.

Many paranormal groups have examined the hotel. The South Jersey Ghost Research gang found the spirit of a young girl in the Flander who may have died from hypothermia or from the water.

They noticed that the painting of Emily shared a physical resemblance with the little girl. Putting two and two together, the SJGR group theorized that she was looking for her mother - and that woman may be Emily. Here's their report on YouTube, Part 1 and Part 2.

Philly Boo Zoo

2010-11-05T19:00:00.006-04:00

Solitude image from Skyscraper Forum
Hey, Simon and Garfunkle knew it was all happening at the Zoo. Now, thanks to SyFy TV and the Ghost Hunters, we know it's the Philly Zoo that they were talkin' about.

America's First Zoo opened on July 1, 1874, after a long delay brought on by the Civil War; its charter was originally approved in 1859. And, of course, it was rumored to be built on a Native American burial ground.

The zoo staff has reported a wide range of ghostly activity over the years, including flickering lights, partial and full-bodied apparitions and black shadow-forms seen roaming the zoo's buildings paths.

That was plenty enough to tempt the TAPS team. The Zoo episode was filmed in early April, and aired September 1st.

First they checked out the Solitude House, which was built by John Penn, the grandson of city founder William Penn, in 1784. It's housed reptile exhibits, and is honeycombed by an underground tunnel system, which doesn't sound like all that great a combination to us.

Prior reports from the Solitude included sightings in the attic, a door that locks itself, disembodied footsteps on the stairs and voice in the basement.

The Ghost Hunters heard music and voices while in the tunnels and footsteps coming from above. One member had her hair fondled (or brushed by a spider web or dust bunny; take your pick) and the team heard the disembodied voice of a man, along with humming in the basement and a door slamming upstairs.

Then it was off to the Penrose Building, which formerly functioned as a research laboratory and vet hospital. Its phenomena included claims of lights going off and on by themselves and a woman seen in the library window. The best the GH could come up with was a cold spot.

The Shelly Building houses offices and classrooms, and featured reports of a face peering through a plexiglass window in the lobby and the sounds of doors opening and closing. The paranormal explorers couldn't get a face to pop up, but did hear some banging and a slamming door.

The Treehouse is the only remaining one-time animal pen, but after a long renovation is now used as a children’s exhibit hall. It's claimed to host an apparition and some visitors have reported uneasiness and the sound of disembodied footsteps. The TAPS team got a sort of knock-knock response from an unidentified entity.

The verdict? Enough interesting stuff to keep the tales alive, but nothing conclusive. It would be nice if the Zoo could put a name to its spooks; each place that was checked out has an apparition; is it the shadow of John Penn, an old lion tamer, a long-time docent or a Delaware looking for some peace?

And oddly, there are no animal spirits haunting the grounds, not that the critters would have much reason to stick around. If you want to visit unencumbered by an obligation to feed the monkeys, there are several sweet Halloween tours of the Zoo.

Jack O' Lantern

2010-10-29T07:00:00.021-04:00

Image from the BBC Pumpkin Gallery
Irish legends tell us that the Jack O'Lantern was named after a neer-do-well named Stingy Jack who tricked the devil into paying for his drinks (or trapped him in a tree, or...well, there's quite a few devilish predicaments noted in folklore.)

They're all resolved when Old Scratch promises not to take Stingy Jack's soul. Jack, though, didn't quite cover all his bases. When Jack died, the devil, true to his word, let him pass by and journey toward the Pearly Gates.

St. Peter took one look at the Book, and informed Jack that he was at the wrong doorway. Jack reported to Lucifer, and found out the joke was on him; the Devil still refused to let him into his realm.

Unable to enter heaven or hell, Jack was compelled to walk the shadows of the earth for eternity. When he complained that he couldn't see, Old Nick tossed him a burning ember from Hades, guaranteed to never go out.

Jack scooped out a turnip (his favorite snack; he would steal one whenever he could, and always had one stuffed in his pocket) and to this day, it lights his way.

The Irish began to refer to his ghostly figure as "Jack of the Lantern," and then, simply "Jack O'Lantern."

And the ol' Jack O' Lantern would prove handy for all varieties of spooks, not just Stingy Jack. Irish lore claims that if a demon would encounter something as fiendish looking as itself, it would flee in terror. So the folk from the Emerald Isle would carve a gruesome countenance on a hollowed-out turnip and set it out on All Hallow's Eve to keep the roaming undead away.

The story and the use of a Jack O' Lantern crossed the Atlantic with the Irish Catholics of colonial Maryland, who soon discovered that a pumpkin was a heck of a lot easier to carve than a turnip, and that as an added bonus, the innards made a pretty tasty pie, too.

The tales and use of the Jack-O'-Lantern are at least two thousand years old.

The first were simple faces carved in hollowed turnips used as night lanterns. They were designed to both frighten away evil spirits and to guide and protect the living.

The symbolic protection provided by the Jack O' Lantern would carry over. Night watchmen in the mid-1600s were called Jack O' Lanterns, or the men with the lanterns, guarding the dark medieval cities and hamlets. The eerie connotation carried on, too - a Jack O' Lantern was another name for a will-o'-the-wisp, better known as ghost lights.

So hey, when you're carving out that split-toothed goblin with the triangular eyes, put a little soul and artistry into it - you're the latest link in a tradition that dates back millenniums.

Witch's Grave

2010-10-22T19:00:00.004-04:00

image from the William A. Renfrow Online Gallery
Annapolis, Maryland, has its share of haunted history. In Truxton Park, near the head of Spa Creek past the ballfields, there's a gnarled tree leaning over the bank; the immediate area is known as the Witch's Grave.

One version of the local story claims that three witches were executed - two were hung, one burned - and buried there in the 1800’s. It's said that their ghosts haunt the local woods and can be seen from the road.

The second and more publicized bit of lore says that the victims of a vengeful witch spook the place. The crone was reportedly hung and buried here, but rose from the dead and escaped her grave, never to be seen again.

That wasn't good news for her executioners; she got her payback, and it's been told that you can see their apparitions hanging from the same tree that claimed her.

Some say the legend holds true during any dark evening; others say it only holds sway on Halloween. Oh, and if you stay and gawk too long, according to the lore, you could end up being one of those swinging bodies.

The Witch's Grave is the stuff of urban legend; no local documentation or history to support a local witch hunt or trial can be found. Still, the story started somehow and is passed on to this day...and Halloween is fast approaching if you have the itch to find that tree.

Rehmeyer's Hollow

2010-10-16T03:35:00.005-04:00

Nelson Rehmeyer image from Dagger Press
Also known as Hex Hollow, this site in Shrewsbury, York County is home to the infamous 1928 Pow Wow (Pennsylvania Dutch witch doctor) murder of Nelson Rehmeyer.

The short story is that Rehmeyer was a self proclaimed Pennsylvania Dutch witch doctor. Neighbor John Blymire, another pow-wow doctor experiencing a streak of bad luck, was told that he had come under the hex of Rehmeyer by Nellie Noll, known as the River Witch of Marietta.

Blymire decided to break into Rehmeyer's home in search of a book of spells; burning the book or burying a lock of Rehmeyer's hair would remove the hex, according to Noll.

He went to Rehmeyer's home with two companions, and Blymire found Rehmeyer, demanding his hex book. A fight ensued, and the trio killed Rehmeyer, effectively ending one curse and starting another, compliments of the Pennsylvania court system. He got life for his crime. The Hex Murder was the trail of the era, and probably as close to a witchcraft trial as the state had in three or four hundred years.

Rehmeyer's home, known as the Hex House, just became a museum in what's now called Spring Hollow Park. It's said that if you are in the area, you may see the faces of people that have died in Hex Hollow floating about. Cars in the area stall out for no reason.

It's also said that you can't get back to the main road from the same road you came in on, because they morph into a maze when you're by the Hex House. Cell phones often go on the blink in the area, so don't look for your GPS to bail you out.

The book Hex by Arthur Lewis was written about the murder. Brian Keene wrote two novels loosely based on Rehmeyer's Hollow and the region's powwow magic: Dark Hollow and Ghost Walk.

Witch of Highland

2010-10-08T19:00:00.015-04:00

Highland Cemetery image from Buscatube
Located in Marion County, the small community of Mannington is rich in history. But its best known bit of lore doesn't involve Indian battles, the Civil War, or the oil and gas boom: Mannington is the home of one of the state's most enduring urban legends, The Witch's Grave at Highland Cemetery.

Highland Cemetery and its chapel sit off a rural dirt road, high on a hilltop. Abandoned for years (although it's now being used again for services), the chapel was supposedly once the meeting place for satanists.

The chapel reportedly doesn't have a cross in it; in fact, its decor is said to feature ancient Greek woman in a kind of Bacchanal theme. On Halloween, its attendance board is rumored to equal the number of people in the chapel, and is updated with each new or departing visitor by an unseen census taker.

(Don't just bust in to find out, please; the once abandoned church is now used for services again, and the remote graveyard has been vandalized too many times.)

But the main claim to paranormal fame for Highland Cemetery is that the graveyard is reputed to be the final resting spot of West Virginia's most famous witch.

She goes by many first names in lore: Zelda, Sarah Jane, or Serlinda Jane Whetzel. Her tombstone reads "Serilda Jane Whetzel, date of death: May 29th, 1909"; we assume that answers that question.

Whetzel shares the graveyard with an alleged warlock, Tusca Roy Morris ("Born November 11, 1874 Died December 30, 1900.") Both graves face west, toward the setting sun; the cemetery's other markers face east. Both tombstones are in a corner of the graveyard, under a dogwood tree.

As ominously spooky as the headstones' placement may seem, the reason probably lies in Highland Cemetery vandals, who have knocked down the markers several times and replaced them backwards. It's said that whenever the workers set the stones straight, the midnight partiers quickly return and reverse them again.

But the desecration of the stones can't explain away the carvings etched on them so easily. Whetzel's obelisk shows a staircase descending down into the fiery mouth of a demonic dragon.

A staircase ascending into heaven is a common enough depiction on a monument. The question is whether Whetzel's artwork shows a fall into Lucifer's underworld or is a century-old etching that time has eroded just enough to blur and contort the original image.

Tusca's stone shows a face with horns. Again, whether that's just a result of the ravages of time or something more sinister isn't known.

Of course, there's always the inconvenient fact that they were buried in Christian plots; apparently the good reverend back in the day didn't think the pair were Satan's spawns at the time of their deaths if he allowed them to be interred on church grounds.

At any rate, the local tale is that if you visit Highland Cemetery late at night, you'll see glowing in the woods and hear strange noises. The witch and her warlock companion have been reportedly spotted in the vicinity of their graves, quickly disappearing when approached. And on Halloween, a trip to the chapel will include your gang in a netherworld census headcount.

Urban legend or something more...?

The Legend Of Tuggy

2010-10-01T19:00:00.006-04:00

Harriton Family Cemetery from the Lower Merion Historical Society
The Harriton House, in Bryn Mawr, Montgomery County, dates back to 1682 when it was a 700 acre land grant given by William Penn to Rowland Ellis. The first home was built by Ellis in 1704 and was called Bryn Mawr, meaning "high hill" (the town is named after the house). It was sold to Richard Harrison in 1719.

Although a Quaker, Harrison was a tobacco farmer from Maryland. He grew tobacco at Harriton too, and employed slave labor to farm the crop. It's thought, in fact, that Harriton (Harrison had married Philadelphian Hannah Norris in 1717; some of the vast Norris family holdings were known as Norriton, thus their land became known as Harriton) was the northernmost slave plantation in America.

One of his slaves was named Tuggy, who knew some voodoo. She and some other Harriton slaves despised life in Pennsylvania and badly wanted to return to their Maryland families.

Tuggy tried to kill her hated owner, first by poisoning his morning cup of chocolate. But a timely knock at the door saved him from drinking the concoction and foiled the plot, so she came up with a Plan B.

She went to the graveyard with a wooden stake. Some think Tuggy was planning to use necromancy by raising a body from the dead to do her bidding, while others believe she was trying to cast a death spell on Harrison. Whichever, it worked - but on the wrong victim.

A bloodcurdling scream was heard from the graveyard that night. Being superstitious, no one dared venture into the boneyard until morning. There they found Tuggy's body, staked to a grave plot.

The legend says that she accidentally drove the stake through the hem of her dress, and Tuggy thought that a dead man's hand was pulling her down into the grave to join him. She died of fright.

(The house is a Historic Landmark and is now the centerpiece of a 16-1/2 acre park)

Satan's Hollow

2010-09-25T00:50:00.004-04:00

We were checking out Ohio for some of its witchy past, and hey - we discovered that not many witches seemed to ply their craft there.

But we did find an urban legend concerning a storm sewer where some devil worshipers used to chant and sing, and figured "close enough." This is the tale of Satan's Hollow, a series of drainage channels located by a small creek in Blue Ash, a suburb of Cincinnati.

It's said a group of satanists used to meet in the pitch-black, cave-sized tunnels (you can easily walk upright through them) and conduct their rituals, including, of course, animal sacrifice. The followers of Beelzebub were said to have brought forth spirits and were visited by the kingpin, Satan himself, during their ceremonies.

They gathered in an altar room, and even opened a direct gateway to Hades, now marked in graffiti and tagged as "God's Chamber," a manhole with an impressive drop; it seems deep enough to reach China, if not the depths of hell. It doesn't appear that the coven is active anymore; teens with spray paint seem to have taken over the complex. But the cultists have left their reminders behind.

Female screams can be heard at night echoing through the concrete conduits. There have been reported sightings of various apparitions, including floating skulls and a demon, not to mention the usual assortment of earthly critters drawn to a nice dark cave.

The star spook is the "Shadow Man," one of Old Scratch's loyal demons, left to guard the tunnels. Kinda appropriate that one of the Devil's boys is keeping an eye on a sewer, hey? He gets his name because the imp has a human form, but it's completely blacked out, like a floating shadow.

There are a couple or three Satan's Hollow YouTube vids out, filmed by intrepid explorers of the occult. One group has seen and heard spooked-out things, the other just walked through with nary a sighting.

Urban legend or not, Satan's Hollow is the perfect place to spawn a scary tale; black as sin, echoes resonating, occult symbols (and no small amount of obscenities) covering its walls... a shadow man would be the ultimate finishing touch.

Hexenkopf Rock - The Witches Head

2010-09-18T19:25:00.009-04:00

Hexenkopf from Racheshop
In Northampton County, Hex Rock has been held in awe by the locals since the early 1700s, when it was reputed to be the hangout of the area witches. They would sing, dance, and of course plot against their more saintly neighbors, causing crop failures, miscarriages, illnesses, and farm animal deaths.

Dubbed "Misery Mountain," it used to cast an imposing shadow on the lives of early German settlers. Some nearby residents still refuse to stray too close to the rock at night, especially on Halloween, when the witches party at Hexenkopf Rock.

One story claims that a witch who lived on the forested hill placed a curse on her neighbors for nebbing in her affairs. When people started falling sick, the villagers took justice into their own hands and hanged her. She was later seen wandering the hill seeking vengeance.

An older bit of lore passed on by Rick Cornejo says that local shamans would perform rituals known as "pow-wows" to draw the evil spirits out of the sick. These evil spirits would then be imprisoned in the mountain. It is said the hill used to glow at night from all the evil trapped inside it.

The hill has long lost its eerie night glow. Skeptics speculate that the glow had been caused by a coating of a mineral that has eroded away. But some say it's because the spirits aren't in the rock anymore; they're out roaming the woods, looking for a new body to call home.

Other witchy spooks have been allegedly spotted, along with a the ghost of a headless hunter and various locals who have met their doom there. There have also been sightings of strange floating lights and the sounds of eerie noises have been reported. Some say it's the sound of debauched witches; others say it's just the cry of vultures. Neither one sounds very melodious.

Witches Head abounds with local lore of ghosts, disappearances, demons, insanity, and suicides. One legend we'll pass on is that of a one-legged farmer, who fell to his death chasing (or fleeing from) a demon; it's said you can still hear the tap-tap-tap of his wooden leg in the area.

Now it's largely deserted, with the ruins of a few old farmhouses left in the woodlands. But occasionally a crop circle will pop up on one of the local farms. It's blamed on the whirling witches leaving their ghostly imprint on the field after their Hexen Danz.

If you really want the whole story, read Ned Heindel's 1976 history of the place, "The Hexenkopf Mystery, Myth and Legend."

Susquehanna Spirits

2010-09-10T19:00:00.009-04:00

Seibert Hall
Located in Selinsgrove, Snyder County, Susquehanna University is a small, liberal arts school that was founded in 1858 as the Missionary Institute of the Evangelical Lutheran Church and Susquehanna Female College. And like so many of its' sister schools, it lays claim to a haunted library and theater among other venues.

Blough-Weis Library: Students working in the library basement at night have felt a presence watching them and seen an occasional apparition, followed by intense cold afterwards. No one knows who the spirit is.

Charles Degenstein Campus Center: Charlie the ghost has been seen atop the catwalks and in the audience of the Degenstein (not Digestion, as often reported) campus theater in the "Deg." He's such a well known figure there that Charlie's Coffee House located in the Center is named in the ghost's honor.

Seibert Hall: Seibert is a colonial-style building and listed as a national historical landmark. Many students living there say they have experienced objects moving and have heard strange noises in their rooms. A former resident of the building said, "I used to see objects frequently fall off my desk and shadows of people when no one else was in the room." Dowsing rod divinations found that the spirit is that of a little girl who enjoys playing tricks on students.

Trax: Trax is a student-designed nightclub and entertainment venue. It's said to house the ghost of a worker who died in the building when it was a warehouse. Many employees claim this spook has played tricks on them, such as breaking props, throwing glass and pushing people down stairs. The spirit also told psychics that he gets lonely at Trax and enjoys seeing and interacting with the students. This spook is considered friendly if somewhat mischievous.

Weber Chapel Auditorium: The Chapel Auditorium holds 1,500, and hosts numerous university events, guest lecturers and visiting artist performances as well as chapel services.

A faceless spook has been spotted numerous times in the Auditorium. The ghost has mostly been sighted in the basement. Dowsing rods detected a middle-aged male ghost who had some relation to the Phi Mu Delta fraternity.

Former frat members believe the shade may be that of Charles Degenstein of "Deg" fame, as he not only matched the description but had a son who was a member of the fraternity. Many have felt a strong breeze and some claim that they saw a dark figure moving among the auditorium seats. Old Deg must really love the stage!

And one of our readers wrote in to tell us that we may have only reported the tip of the iceberg: "There are a lot more occurrences that happen on campus, such as multiple ghost (sightings) in Sorority houses, one which was exorcised." So give us a yell if you can add to the SU lore.

Wilmington College Haunted Horses of Old Main

2010-09-03T19:00:00.005-04:00

College Hall
Wilmington College of Clinton County was founded in 1870 by members of the Religious Society of Friends (Quakers). This affiliation continues today. It offers a wide ranging education: it's the only private school in Ohio to offer an agricultural degree, and also features the largest depository of materials outside of Japan relating to the atomic bombings of Hiroshima/Nagasaki.

The college is also home to the Meriam R. Hare Quaker Heritage Center, a museum, gallery, and meeting house. It's been said that Wilmington College is the most visible legacy of Quaker culture in southwest Ohio. Its offices are even located on Quaker Way.

But there are no Quakers haunting the halls of Wilmington, nor farmers nor A-Bomb victims. Nope, just a couple of old nags that won't leave College Hall.

The first Wilmington College building, College Hall was built in 1866 as the site of Franklin College, a non-sectarian institution which went out of existence in 1869.

On August 11, 1870, the college was auctioned to a group of local Quakers represented by Civil War Colonel Azariah Doan, a Quaker officer famed for being unarmed while leading his men into battle. That's living the Book.

The institution was renamed Wilmington College, and construction resumed so the single-building college could open in spring 1871. It was dedicated April of that year, with the first day of classes commencing the next day.

College Hall or Old Main, as it was often called, has served many purposes; now it's the administrative and faculty offices and several classrooms. In 1972, it was added to the National Register of Historical Places.

The first haunted horse belonged to Azariah Doan. When the steed, "Ole Bill," passed on, the good Colonel decided to bury its remains between floors of Old Main for reasons only Doan knew. In 1957, Ole Bill's skull was put on display in College Hall, part of its complete skeleton which was found during renovations.

The other galloping ghost parades on the top floor. According to college legend, a student prank, pulled off decades ago, involved locking live farm animals in the building. An unfortunate horse went berserk and injured himself so badly that he had to be shot.

Both horses are blamed for the clip-clop sound of horse hooves on the tiled hallways of Old Main, as well as the sound of snorts and whinnies.

There was one other tragic incident in the building. During the early days, the long smooth banisters on the stairways leading to the second floors tempted the students to slide down them. In 1899, Ethel Sparks, sliding down the banister with her arms full of books, fell off the rail, struck her head on the floor below, and later died. But there has been no reported return visits by the unfortunate Ms. Sparks.

If phantom horses don't get your paranormal juices flowing, there are a couple of more traditional haunts in the town of Wilmington.

One fright site is the Haw Chapel Cemetery, just outside of Wilmington. The small cemetery has a tombstone that sits underneath a small grove of trees and can be seen to be glowing from Haw Chapel Road.

The Snow Hill Country Club is allegedly so spooked out that they have a regular "Dinner and a Ghost" feature every October, the "200 Years of Whispers Haunted Tour" and a "Sleep With a Ghost" room special.

The main hotel building dates to the 1820s and has been plagued by mysterious occurrences for a long time. Most of the spooky reputation has been validated by EVPs and orb pictures; there isn't much in the way of full-throated screaming meemies reported from the CC.

Finally, there's the Old Mill, an old-fashioned haunted house that was built before the civil war. Here's how its story goes:

A Civil War vet brought back a small pack of illegal slave children to help him take care of his business and home. The man would beat the children constantly for doing little things, sometimes just for laughing. They were better off as slaves, which was what they were to the old soldier.

One night while the man was sleeping, the children entered his bedroom and killed him.

It's said today that you can see the rug rats running around at night and hear their cries. Sometimes you can actually see the kids reenacting their revenge. And you can sometimes see a man and two children standing in front of the mill. He'll be holding one child’s hand and with the other he will be holding his hat across his heart, staring at you. Brrr!

Now we couldn't find any mention of an old mill in Wilmington. But there is an Old Mill mall, a group of antique/collectible dealers that have turned an old feed mill into a shopping mecca. So if you're local and can help us out re: the Old Mill and whether these buildings are one and the same, give as yell.

Haunted Homestead Police Station In The News

2010-09-03T08:03:00.004-04:00

Two years ago, the Allegheny County Homestead Police Station and Municipal Offices were a hotbed of eerie rumor; the cops and staff dealt with touchings, voices and electronics gone haywire. Hey, the cell block was tougher on the officers than it was on the bad guys!

In came the Greater Pittsburgh Paranormal Society to check the Mon Valley spirit world in the spring of 2008. They recorded some EVPs, heard a door open and footsteps across the first floor, and collected some orb-like video anomalies.

It was enough that the Pittsburgh Post Gazette's Mary Neiderberger chronicled their investigation in her piece "Haunted in Homestead?" on Thursday, April 17, 2008.

The spooks' audience would soon be on the move, though - a new building would welcome the politicos and police within months.

Well, two years later, after the old station house was empty, the Haunting Research people went in with a dowsing rod to see who - or what - stayed behind after the living had moved on.

Among those they said they communicated with were a former mayor from the 1800s, a woman who said she died as part of a murder-suicide pact and assorted others. They also got videos of orbs, and found a friendly spirit, that of the current Mayor's dearly departed white Maltese pooch, Suze!

The Pittsburgh Post Gazette's Mary Niederberger again wrote up the results in "Ghost Seekers Uncover Spirits In Homestead Police Station" on Friday, September 03, 2010.

Ghost Train Claims New Victim

2010-08-27T23:07:00.003-04:00

As reported by Phil Gast of CNN:

"On August 27, 1891, a passenger train jumped the tracks on a tall bridge near Statesville, North Carolina, sending seven rail cars below and about 30 people to their deaths.

The legend: On the wreck's anniversary, the sounds of screeching wheels, screaming passengers and a horrific crash might still be heard. You might also see a uniformed man with a gold watch.

Shortly before 3 a.m. Friday, on the 119th anniversary of the Bostian Bridge train tragedy and at about the same time, between 10 and 12 ghost hunters were on that approximately 300-foot long span.

They were hoping to hear the sounds of the crash, and perhaps see something.

Instead, a real Norfolk-Southern train -- three engines and one car -- turned the corner as it headed east to Statesville, about 35 miles north of Charlotte, authorities said.

The terrified amateur ghost watchers ran away, back toward Statesville, trying to cover the nearly 150 feet to safety, said Iredell County Sheriff's Office Capt. Darren Campbell.

All but two made it."

The rest of the story is here. It's not regional, we know, but H&H sometimes worries about his buds and the ends they'll go to in search of some lore. Always be careful when you're out; there are a lot more things to fear than ghosts - like joining them.

Philly U Phantoms

2010-08-27T21:05:00.001-04:00

Ravenhill Mansion from Skyscrapers
Philadelphia University in East Falls was founded in 1884 as the Philadelphia Textile School, established to educate America’s textile workers and managers. The School continued to grow, and in 1961, changed its name to Philadelphia College of Textiles & Science, becoming Philadelphia University on July 13, 1999. And as anybody from Philly knows, you can't stay in one place that long without picking up a spook or two.

Fortress Hall: This was formerly a classroom for Ravenhill Academy (see below) and is now a woman's dorm. It hosts a variety of poltergeist-type activity: objects being moved, windows opening and shutting on their own, and touchings in the form of taps on the shoulder when no one else is nearby. There have also been many orb pictures taken inside the Fortress.

Ravenhill Mansion: Ravenhill Mansion was built in 1802, bequeathed to the Catholic Diocese in 1910, and opened as the Ravenhill Academy by the Religious of the Assumption, an order of nuns. It became Philly U. property in 1982 and the historic house is today used for offices. The tale goes that a nun was impregnated by a priest, and shamed by her act, hung herself in the attic. Natch, the attic has been closed off for years - the spooky sister's sightings date back to Ravenhill Academy days - but people have seen lights flitting about in it. More eerily, it's said you can sometimes catch sight of the sister, too, especially if you perch on the hill opposite Ravenhill at daybreak.

More Duffy's Cut

2010-08-24T22:15:00.002-04:00

Hey, I know my spook lovin' buds on H&H are avid followers of the ghosts of Duffy's Cut and its whole sordid story. Here's a CNN update on Doc Watson's merry band of historians trying to set things right: "Grandfather's Ghost Story Leads To Mysterious Mass Grave" By Meghan Rafferty.

Marshall's Thundering Herd...Of Spooks

2010-08-20T19:00:00.007-04:00

Marshall University's Old Main
Marshall University is a public university in Huntington, West Virginia, with 13,435 students. It was founded in 1837 as Marshall Academy, back when Huntington was still part of Virginia, and named after John Marshall, the fourth Chief Justice of the United States. And yes, a school that old has to have some spooks on campus.

Alpha Chi Omega House: Alpha Chi Omega was founded in 1885 as a music sorority. It's house is located directly across from Corbly Hall on Fifth Avenue, and they share it with more than the sisterhood.

It's gently haunted by the ghost of little boy who died in a fire at the house. He's said to cause gusts of cool air (cold spots, as they're called in the paranormal biz), flickering basement lights that electricians have checked out and can't explain, and missing objects in the house. Hey, what would you expect from a pesky little brother fooling with his sisters?

Gullickson Hall: This is the classroom part of the Cam Henderson Center, the Thundering Herd's basketball arena. The women’s locker room is said to have a playful voyeur. Girls have had her hair pulled when no one was around and many feel the presence of someone watching them.

Harris Hall: Built in 1976, professors and students have heard children talking and walking through the building.

Hodges Hall: Ah, a tale of love gone bad. The most popular version of the HH tale is that a football player was dating several girls, telling each that she was his one and only. Well, the girls found out about each other, and one took it hard. She committed suicide by jumping out of the third story window. Legend has it that her soul lives on in the attic.

You won't find her there anymore, though. Hodges, built in 1937, was razed in 2007.

Jenkins Hall: Jenkins Hall was constructed in 1937 and named in honor of a Confederate calvary officer, General Albert Jenkins, who was a native of Cabell County. Until 1970 the building provided kindergarten through high school education and served as a lab for prospective teachers.

There have been reports of children laughing, and ghost hunter Tigger Conn caught a picture a few months ago of two young kids who were staring and laughing while looking out one of the windows in Jenkins.

Laidley Hall: This 1937 dorm provides upperclassman resident housing. The lore here is that every night at nine, coincidentally the start of dorm quiet hours, the fire alarm (or glass breaking, depends on who's talking) can be heard, joining noises like footsteps and banging radiators to raise a cacophony. Some say the spooks are raising a ruckus; others say an old building makes noise, quiet hours or not.

Memorial Student Center: The Memorial Student Center was completed in 1971. Its name commemorates the loss of the entire Marshall football team in the 1970 plane crash.

It hosts a ghost who walks down the stairs and goes out through the double doors of the front entrance in the student center.

Morrow Library: The James Morrow Library was once MU's main book center; it's the haunt of special collections like the Appalachian Research Center and scholarly academics now. The original bulding was erected in 1872-73, and it was dedicated as a library in 1931.

Morrow survived the 1937 flood (barely) but fell victim to digital technology and modern architecture, as its general stacks have been moved to the John Drinko Library, opened in 1998. But it still has its allure - and lore.

Its ghosts violate the first rule of libraries across the world - they won't be shushed. Students have heard loud arguments while no one was around, and seen books fall off the shelf for no apparent reason and no one around. A little quiet, please! Ghosts are supposed to be seen, not heard. And actually, they have been: white orbs have shown up on pictures taken by the building.

Old Main: The landmark Old Main, which now serves as the primary administrative building for the university, was built on land known as Maple Grove, once the home of the Mount Hebron Church. It's also served as an infirmary during World War II and a girls dormitory.

Old Main is actually a series of five buildings that have been joined together between the years 1868 and 1908 (the oldest dates back to 1830), ranks as the oldest structure on campus, and its spires have become the symbol of the university. It even looks spooky, with a gothic ambience, cobbled together in both Romanesque and Gothic styles.

The attic and the Yeager suites are said to be haunted by past spirits that have made Old Main their home after death, and eerie tales abound from each part of the old structure.

There have been several reports of basement spooks. One is of a man walking in and out of the girl's loo. Another is the shadow of an old handy man dressed in overalls who still dishes out directions and help, then disappears.

But its main claim to ghostly fame comes from the acting area of the old Auditorium. It starts with footsteps from the catwalks above the auditoriun, which can be plainly seen from the floor - but no one is on them.

It's most noted for its ghost of the stage. A large, well-dressed man has been seen sitting backstage during performances who quickly disappears when he attracts someone's eye.

The dapper shade is believed to be the ghost of a 1920's theater director who was wrongfully accused of embezzling money from the college and disappeared. Proof exonerating him wasn't found until the eighties, too late to do his his earthly incarnation any good, but his ethereal self could still enjoy the show.

One Room Schoolhouse: It was built in 1889, and is a museum now. During the 1937 flood some students were drowned and there are stories of kids singing and laughing inside the schoolhouse. They must have moved with the school; it was relocated in 1995.

Sigma Phi Epsilon House: The Sigma Phi Epsilon Fraternity House is located on Fifth Avenue. Its lore is that in the late 1960s or early 1970s, a woman named Gail and her twin sons died in a basement fire of the home. Reports of hearing sobbing and seeing blurred images are among things that are attributed to the ghosts. One brother said of Gail: "We don't mind having her here. We feel she takes care of the fraternity house." Hey, every frat needs its house mother.

Twin Towers East: The dorm was opened in 1969. In room 1218 of Twin Towers East, a student claims to have seen a young man sitting in his room, looking at him and his roommate. He pulled his blanket up over his head to make it go away, and it worked. When he looked again, the image had disappeared and the door was still locked. He later learned from friends that a student had committed suicide in that room; he assumed that's who his mysterious visitor was.

Hey, is it any wonder the school hosts Ghost Walks on campus?

(H&H took the tales posted here primarily from articles from the Marshall student newspaper, the Parthenon.)

Duquesne Demons

2010-08-14T10:21:00.000-04:00

Old Main from Take A Virtual Hike
Duquesne was founded in 1878 as the Pittsburgh Catholic College and held classes above a bakery on Wylie Avenue in the Hill District. In 1885, they moved into their current campus on Boyd's Hill, now known as the Bluff. In 1911, they became the Duquesne University of the Holy Ghost. And like many Catholic colleges, they could use a good exorcism.

* Fisher Hall: Formerly the Fisher Scientific building, Duquesne took over the century old structure in the early nineties. The building was extensively renovated, but, per agreement with Chester Fisher, the second floor, consisting primarily of a cafeteria and museum, was left largely unchanged.

But several mysterious happenings led the staff to believe the floor was haunted. Doors would shut on their own. Papers would be blown around in a windowless office. Sounds of screaming could be heard from the museum hallway.

Then one morning when the manager tried to turn on the lights, a cold breath was felt on her wrist and a disembodied voice said “Leave it off”. The spirit later relented, allowing the switch to be flicked on after several tries. A week later, priests from the University blessed the cafeteria and its' workers, and so far, that's turned the trick.

And upstairs, where the building is connected to the main campus by a walkway, an elderly man will hold the door open for the crossing students. When they turn to thank him, he's gone.

* Old Main Administration Building: The basement of the Old Main was a major transfer point in the Underground Railroad. Most escaped slaves there were well on their way to freedom; others were captured there. Door and lights operate on their own in the basement. The sound of voices can be heard through the building's vents, and sometimes the sounds of rattling chains can be heard echoing through the Old Main's halls.

Old Main was the first campus building on the bluff, built in 1885, and the five story red brick landmark was the highest point on the Pittsburgh skyline for years. But that date would place it past the Underground Railroad's halcyon days. Maybe it was built on the bones of an older structure or perhaps its prominence attracted the tortured souls that passed through Boyd's Hill on their way to freedom.

* St. Ann's Learning Center: The center is a freshman residence hall built in 1964. The spirit of a boy with a temper problem allegedly haunts room #409. He scatters objects and belongings all over. Boys just wanna have fun.

Navy's Shipyard of Spooks

2010-08-06T19:00:00.004-04:00

Naval Academy Chapel from Wikipedia, photo by Dan Smith
The Naval School was established on a 10-acre Army post named Fort Severn in Annapolis, Maryland, on October 10, 1845, with a class of 50 midshipmen and seven professors. In 1850 the Naval School became the United States Naval Academy.

Since then, it's been churning out top rate sailors, a couple of which have never left the USNA.

John Paul Jones was the captain of the Bonhomme Richard in the Continental Navy during the Revolution who famously said "I have not yet begun to fight." Jones is buried in the academy's chapel and now said to meander around the Chapel grounds. He's even spoken to his gate guard sentinels, reducing one to a babbling mess.

He's a busy ghostie; JPJ is also reported to haunt the John Paul Jones house in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, where he lived when he was overseeing the construction of the ship America, and had a mistress (one in every port, right?).

James Sutton was a lieutenant who died at the academy in 1907 under suspicious circumstances. The Academy said it was suicide, but his ghost appeared to his mom and told her he had been beaten and shot. A second investigation proved he was right, although the perp was never found.

His ghost has been sighted by many witnesses on Annapolis’ grounds, in buildings, floating above the academy’s fence, walking through walls, peeking into windows and hovering over Midshipmen’s beds.

There are also tales of spirits haunting the campus tunnel system, nicknamed the "Ho Chi Minh" trail during the Vietnam era. They're supposedly the shadows of first-year students who entered the system through manhole covers and died before they could find their way out. Whether this urban legend is more a cautionary tale for adventurous frosh to keep out of the tunnels or not is a coin toss.

Another haunt that is associated with the Academy is the Brice House, which at one time was rented out as a residence for VIP visitors and USNA professors. The downtown Annapolis home is said to be the most spooked out building in the town.

The spirits of a murdered owner, Thomas Brice, and his valet have been seen (the butler was either the murderer or a second victim; history is unclear on that tidbit) roam the halls. Juliana, Brice's mother and a popular hostess, has also been sighted.

Other unidentified spirits have been reported, and voodoo artifacts left behind by the black servants and a skeleton buried in the wall have been found.

Anchors aweigh!

Gettysburg College

2010-07-30T19:00:00.040-04:00

Gettysburg College Campus from Wikipedia
Founded as Pennsylvania College in 1832, Gettysburg College in Adams County was a sister institution to the Lutheran Theological Seminary.

During the Battle of Gettysburg, the school's Pennsylvania Hall was used by both sides as a field hospital and communications outpost as the tides of the battle ebbed and flowed.

The school even had its' own troops, the 26th Pennsylvania Emergency Militia Regiment. They actually got into combat with light casualties, although over 100 of the students were taken prisoner. No wonder their team nickname is the Bullets.

It became Gettysburg College in 1921. President Dwight David Eisenhower was heavily involved with the institution and even had an office there that still bears his name. Some of the spooky occurrences on campus have been shown on the Travel Channel, the History Channel, and NBC's Unsolved Mysteries.

-- Brua Hall: This is the home of the Performing Arts department and Kline Theatre, once the college Chapel. It's haunted by the spook of an older Civil War officer called the General.

He's been seen in the catwalks and backstage, and enjoys playing pranks with the props and costumes. He also likes watching the performances, and has his own center stage seat that depresses when he sits in it and pops back up when he leaves. The student actors make sure it's always empty, just in case the General wants to catch the show.

-- Glatfelter Hall: The legend goes that a young couple climbed the bell tower of Glatfelter in a suicide pact. The girl jumped, but the guy changed his mind. Her spook has since been seen on the bell tower, but only by males. It seems she's trying to lure a fellow to jump for her, to replace her cowardly beau and join her ever after in the afterlife. The 1887 structure is the computer science center now, so GC techies, beware if you hear her siren call.

-- Pennsylvania Hall (Old Dorm): Built in 1837, this is the oldest building on campus. It was used as a command post and hospital during the Battle of Gettysburg, and it's said that the spook of a guard - the Lone Sentinel - can still be seen in the building's cupola (although some tales say there are three guards marching around the outpost; they even disagree as to Blue or Gray). It was also used as a hospital.

The Old Dorm's most famous story, as related by Mark Nesbitt in Ghosts of Gettysburg, involves two administrators on the elevator. Passing the intended stop, it went down to the basement, where the doors opened to an operating Civil War hospital.

The women were terrified watching the doctors at work, performing meatball surgery on their patients - and watching the growing pile of amputated limbs stacked up in the corner. The scene was completely silent, but when one of the blood soaked doctors approached them, they hit every button on the elevator and escaped.

The spook doc probably thought they were a couple of nurses coming to help him, but they weren't about to stick around to find out, just in case he was looking for a ticket out of the OR. The women found a guard and went back downstairs, suspecting a student prank, but the basement was empty except for some boxes when they arrived. It's never been experienced again, but if it happened once...

-- Red House: This off campus apartment house is generally occupied by women attending GC. It's said that the grave of a Civil War era girl is in the backyard, and she haunts the house. You can tell she's around when you smell her lilac perfume in the home or when she pulls one of her poltergeist tricks like moving things around or breaking dishes.

-- 60 Chambersburg Street: The building has been standing since 1863, but the section in question was added later. It is reported that the off-campus apartment is haunted by a make-yourself-at-home ghost named Chuck. He whistles around the apartment for hours on end, and turns electronic appliances on and off. Once, it's alleged, he even rewound the VCR to watch a scene he liked again. It's also reported that once Chuck lifted a woman's hair off her shoulder and made it stand straight out on the other side of her head.

-- Stevens Hall: There's one very well know ghost, the Blue Boy, haunting this Hall, which opened in 1868. The story goes that a young ward fled from the brutal Homestead orphanage and was given shelter by a couple of girls in their dorm room one icy winter night at what was then Pennsylvania College Prep School.

The house mother knocked on the door, and the girls hid the boy outside on a window ledge because he would surely be returned to the orphanage if found. The weather was bitter, and the house mother stayed and chatted for an hour. She finally left, but when the girls went to get the child, he was gone. He had wandered off and left nothing behind but footprints in the snow.

We don't know exactly what happened to the poor lad, but ever since girls staying in that room have been visited by his spook. It has frozen blue lips. He's also been seen peering into Steven's windows, faced pressed against the pane.

As for his window, it's known to fly open whenever there's a winter storm - even when it's locked. Once a girl saw him, shook her head in disbelief at the sight, and when she focused again, he was gone. But the words "Help Me" were written in reverse on the icy pane. This is another tale made famous by Mark Nesbitt in Ghosts of Gettysburg.

There's a lady ghost that's been spotted roaming the halls of Stevens, but we don't have her story. There are also tales of whispers coming from the attic, voices of children, and the spirit of a young girl that looks at herself in the dorm mirrors. You can see her reflection, but not her. The hall was a girl's prep school from 1911 - 1935, and that's where these spirits are thought to come from.

-- Stine Lake: OK, nothing spooky here, just a bit of GC lore. Before the Musselman Library was built, the quad outside of its' present location would flood whenever it rained and turn into a gooey, muddy bog.

The quad picked up the nickname Stine Lake (No, we don't know why. If you do, give us a yell), and it's still called that today, much to the consternation of frosh and visitors looking for a campus pond. In actuality, the quad's been high and dry since the late 1970s when the drainage was unclogged and updated. It's also the center for many campus April Fool pranks and the College's Springfest.

-- Theta Chi House: The urban legend here is that a previous owner of the house hung himself in the basement. If you're unfortunate enough to see his ghost hanging, you or someone close to you will run into bad luck. The fraternity must have run out of luck - the Theta Chi's are no longer on campus. Maybe everyone was in the basement at a kegger and the ghost appeared, cursing them to the next life.

Hobart Happenings

2010-07-23T17:10:00.008-04:00

Hobart Manor, William Paterson University
Founded in the city of Paterson in 1855, William Paterson University is one of the nine state colleges and universities in New Jersey. Built on 370 wooded acres in Wayne County, New Jersey, the campus is located 20 miles west of New York City and has about 11,000 grad and undergrad students. And one spooked out building, the Hobart Manor.

The history of the estate begins in 1877 when John McCullough, a Scottish immigrant who made a fortune in the wool industry, constructed the two-story fieldstone castle with two octagonal turrets as his crib.

At the turn of the century, McCullough returned to his native Scotland and the property was sold at auction in 1902 to Paterson resident Jennie Tuttle Hobart. She was the widow of Vice President Garret A. Hobart who died in office in 1899, while serving under President William McKinley. Hobart deeded the property to her son, Garret, Jr., as a Christmas gift that year.

It stayed in family hands until 1948, when it was sold to New Jersey and added to the campus of William Paterson.

Hobart Manor is one of the two original structures on campus, and a national historic site. Today, the mansion houses the offices of the President, Institutional Advancement, and Alumni Affairs - and a couple of other long time guests.

One story has it that McCullough discovered that his wife was having an affair with a servant that worked for them. Ol' Captain John supposedly killed them both in a rage. The legend is that on some nights you can see the wife walk down the staircase in a white dress, and dance with her lover near the window.

Now as far as we know, there is no factual basis at all for this lore...but when McCullough abandoned the manse and sailed back to the Bonnie Isles never again to return, he did leave himself fair game for some wagging tongues, we suppose.

This building's star spook is the spirit of the wife of Garrett Augustus Hobart, Jenny Tuttle. Her specter reportedly roams freely through the house as if no one is there. She goes from room to room cleaning, as if still alive, and has been allegedly seen by both campus security and the Manor staff. Other say she roams around the halls as an eternal hostess, being reputed as the Perle Mesta of her era.

While we're not sure why she'd haunt her kid's house, Jenny's got a houseful of company from the other side. For starters, there are the fairly common phenomena of footsteps, piano music, and a crying baby.

Psychics visited the Manor one Halloween (when else?) to check out its permanent guest list. They encountered the spirit of a young man reading a newspaper on the second floor staircase, and a young girl on the third floor who kept flitting from room to room, avoiding them.

Another reported house spook that they missed was the man in the top hat and cape, reported by other non-psychic but apparently perceptive guests and staff.

So hey, if you ever visit WPU and stop by to see the president, and a lovely lady in turn of the century clothes entertains you as you wait, well, just say "hi" to Jenny. Then you can go upstairs and mingle with the other guests - and hopefully you won't have to wait as long as they have so far to get an audience.

Cabrini College

2010-07-17T14:03:00.005-04:00

The Mansion at Cabrini College from CIC's Historic Campus Architecture
Let the campus tour continue. Cabrini, a small Main Line Catholic college located in Radnor, Delaware County, was founded in 1957, and its' campus sits on 112 acres with 25 buildings and a handful of spooks.

-- Grace Hall: This is Cabrini's urban legend. It's said that there was a tunnel connecting Grace Hall with the Mansion that was used as a hideout for people during the Revolutionary War days. The tunnel collapsed while there were several people in it, trapping and killing them. Ever since then, the basement of Grace Hall has been sealed off from the rest of the building with strange sounds heard coming from the underground. Are their ghosts there? No one knows until they open up the cellar again. And they're still not sure that they really want to know.

-- Mansion at Cabrini: The Mansion is currently offices for Cabrini College, but it was once the country retreat of the well-to-do Dorrance (Campbell Soup president, mmm good) and Paul families. The star spook of this tale is Mary (or Lucy, depending on the version), although I'm not sure which family she's from. I've heard versions placing her as a Dorrance, others as a Paul, and it's immaterial to the story.

As a young girl, she used to play with the son of the carriage master, Xavier. But as they became older and the social strata took hold, her father forbid her to meet him anymore. But it was too late. She had fallen in love with him, and was shortly carrying his baby. When her father found out on one wintry evening, he put on his top hat and cape and went out to the stables after the lad. Fearing the consequences, Xavier ran to the bell tower and hung himself.

In fact, it's said the tower has been sealed since that fateful night, and that the rope he used still dangles from the rafters. After hearing of the suicide, Mary threw herself off a balcony, killing herself and delivering a stillborn baby. (Some versions say the baby was stillborn before her leap, some say after, and some say the dead baby was taken from her.)

They were buried in the peach orchard nearby where Woodcrest Hall now stands. It's alleged that Mary, with long blonde hair and a dress described as either white or blue, still roams the area in front of Woodcrest in search of her lost baby.

One of our readers wrote and said "A fried of mine claims to have been awakened by Mary in one of the houses, I think it was House 2, (and) being asked, "Have you seen my baby?"

As for the father, the lore claims that during the first snowfall of the year, his footprints can be seen on a driveway between Grace Hall (built over the old stables) and the Mansion that suddenly end. He's also been seen as a tall man wearing a top hat and a black cape walking along the driveway.

He's been described as wandering around and looking lost (although other versions have him storming along the path, head down), and reportedly been hit by a car or three on the driveway. The drivers can hear the thud, but when they get out to check on the man, he's gone.

Once, during a dance, the students rolled up a rug to uncover the hardwood floor. There was blood seeping between the boards. They've never held another dance in the Mansion.

(One of our readers, Michael - see the comments - said his mom, a Cabrini alumnae of 1966, was part of a group that made up the Mansion lore back in 1964. It sure has taken off since then and hey, it's still too good a story to let pass, especially as we have readers who have told us of seeing Mary, the stableboy and/or the father.)

-- Woodcrest Hall: Besides Mary's visits, Woodcrest is also the home of the "Old Hag" syndrome (also known as night paralysis). Many girls have felt a weight on top of them as they were in bed, and can't move or speak. They report hearing voices whispering around them, although no one else was in the room with them. Electronics have also been reported to turn on by themselves, even when unplugged.

One old alum wrote us and added another tale: "In Wood Crest Hall, there is a corner room that faces the Mansion where the cross on the wall would always turn upside down even after several tries of fixing it. So the College made the room into a storage room and would not allow students to sleep there."

-- Xavier Hall: A lady in white has been seen reflecting from the door mirrors there, apparently in response to a ouija board session. Colleges should ban those dang things! They're nothing but trouble.

West Point's Spirit Cadets

2010-07-09T19:00:00.001-04:00

West Point from ATOS
OK, as we continue with our eerie college tour, we swing north to visit one of the most famous schools in the nation, the United States Military Academy.

From the day of its founding on March 16, 1802, a favorite expression at West Point is that "much of the history we teach was made by people we taught." Great generals such as Grant and Lee, Pershing and MacArthur, Eisenhower and Patton, Schwarzkopf and Petraeus, are among the more than 50,000 graduates.

And just to keep that history intact, a few of the old cadets have hung around.

-- Padlock Barracks: There is supposedly a bedroom in the barracks, behind the padlock, where no cadet has slept in years. It's rumored to host a ghost that rises through the floor.

-- Pershing Barracks: A cadet was returning to his room after his afternoon classes and saw his roommate by the window. Beside him was a figure of another cadet, who wore a full-dress uniform with crossbelts, a brass breastplate, and plumed tar bucket (shako) hat. Wondering why someone was in dress uniform, he asked his roomie who had been with him in the room. No one else had been there.

-- Professor's Row: In the 1920s, a priest was called to a house on Professors' Row to exorcise a spirit that had caused two young, terrified, servant girls to flee, naked and screaming, into the night. Bet that caught the attention of the cadets!

-- Room 4714: 47th Division Barracks: In 1972, roomies saw a Civil War era ghost dressed in full-dress grey coat, and an Union Army cap, carrying a musket with a bayonet. The next night, the room’s temperature dropped and both cadets saw the shadow of a man’s torso floating between the floor and ceiling, accompanied by numbing cold. Upper class chain-of-command cadets stayed in the room to check out the tale, some seeing the ghost, some seeing a mist, some seeing nothing at all, but all feeling the chill, which was verified by thermometer readings. The Academy closed the room until the summer, and nothing has ever been reported since...has the spook gone or just become classified information?

-- Superintendent's Mansion: The manse is said to be haunted by the ghost of a Irish cook named Molly. She can often be found kneading bread in the basement kitchen. The spirit, known as "Miss Molly," is said to be the shadow of Brigadier General Sylvanus Thayer's maid of the early 1800s.

-- West Point Ghost: Cadets have seen a 5’3” tall soldier dressed full Jackson-era regimentals, including a musket and a shako, a high plumed military cap worn by US soldiers up until the end of the Civil War era on the grounds. Maybe Napoleon likes to visit.

Hey, enjoy your visit there; it's actually quite gently haunted for a place of its history. But if you see a cadet wearing a shako...

St. Vincent's Abbot Wimmer and Guests

2010-07-03T17:10:00.000-04:00

St. Vincent's Basilica from Wikipedia taken by ohnoitsjamie
St. Vincent College in Latrobe, Westmoreland County, was founded by Bavarian Benedictine Brother Wimmer in 1846. It's famous for hosting the Steelers in August and spooks all year 'round.

Aurelia Hall: Girls using a ouija board contacted a spirit named Henry. They asked him to give them a sign he was real. It took him a while, but when the girls went to bed that night, their floor length mirror flew off the door and shattered against the opposite wall. Not only did they get the scare of their life, but seven years bad luck, too. They apologized to Henry for rousing him, but just to make sure, they slept in friends' rooms for the next few evenings. However, some stories persist that Henry still shows up, as a glowing red face. Another girl found an empty leather bag in her room, and gave it to her mom. Her coat then disappeared. She and her roomie pulled out a ouija board (what ever happened to St Anthony?) and contacted a spirit called T.E. The specter wanted her bag back, and took the coat to hold as collateral until she did. They made the trade. Later, in that same room, (we'd be in an off-campus apartment by now) a blinding light shot out of the closet, and when it faded, an old man with a white beard was seen standing there. When the girls got out of bed, he disappeared, the voyeur! There's also been reports of strange noises and the sound of a basketball bouncing on the seventh floor – which is closed off to the students. The 7th floor is also where a student of the occult was found dead, so lots of bad juju there.

The Basilica: The cornerstone of the basilica was laid in 1892, and the consecration took place on August 24, 1905. The basilica was completely restored in 1996, as part of the 150th anniversary of the college. And it's a good thing, too - it still holds a lot of the past between its walls. It's said that you can feel people rushing by you in the basilica, even when it's empty, and can sometimes see the images of brothers long gone in prayer. Every year, security guards hear strange sounds coming from the basilica after midnight mass on Christmas Eve – kneelers going down, the smell of incense, and sounds of music and singing. They're just keepin' the faith.

Gerard Hall: There are reports of cold spots and disembodied footsteps.

Graveyard, Grounds, & Wandering Monks: Images of the faces of the monks and nuns have been seen in the cemetery, along with an occasional funeral procession. There's a tree stump that's been carved into a wooden throne by the little boy whose grave is beside it; some students claim they've seen his tiny ghost sitting in it. In one part of the cemetery is a statue of Mary, who is said to cry tears of blood when someone in deep sorrow prays to her, in acknowledgment of their pain. In the middle of the graveyard is a Pieta statue of Mary holding Jesus after he has been taken down from the cross. It's claimed that if you sit on the bench in front of it long enough, she will raise her head and look at you. Also, it's regularly reported that entities spotted in the graveyard by security guards vanish without a trace.

Keck's Monk: A monastic novice named Paul Keck reported in the 1850's that he was visited by the spirit of a Benedictine monk that sought prayers for souls in purgatory. Abbot Wimmer at first backed his claims, but as the sighting worked its' way up the chain of command, all the way to the Vatican, Wimmer changed his tune. The visions were eventually deemed a hoax, and they raised considerable scandal within the church at the time. “Keckism” became a form of heresy. It didn't help Keck's cause when he was discovered to have been an actor before donning the robes.

St. Benedict Hall: Benny is haunted by a small girl, nicknamed Jenny, who has appeared in various rooms and likes to play games and tricks on the residents, "borrowing" their things and running through pods in the middle of the night. There are also handprints on the outside of windows.

St. Xavier's Convent: There's a tale of a monk who roams between St. Vincent's and St. Xavier's, a nearby convent. His cowl covers his face, which is invisible even you're looking directly at him. There are visions of brothers working in the kitchen. Shadowy nuns have been seen walking to mass.

Sauerkraut Tower: This landmark structure was built in 1893, designed by Brother Wolfgang Traxler to move 80,000 gallons of water daily through the campus as a gravity powered water tower. Not one to waste space, chief cook Brother Innocent stored barrels of pickled cabbage among it's pipes in the early 20th century, earning the 90' tall building its' nickname. In the 1930's local mines started to drain some of the water supply from the tower, and a monk had to climb the 10 flights of steps 3 times a day to check the water level. Thankfully for the Benedictine's lungs, St. Vincent tapped into the municipal water system in 1942. But it was too late for one nameless brother, who punched his ticket to St. Peter's gate when he got caught in the windmill arms atop the tower and hung himself. To this day, you can still hear the dedicated monk tread up the steps, carrying out his obligation to the college through eternity. And he must be afraid of the dark. Security has to frequently shut off the lights of the empty building, and some people have claimed to see his face looking out of the top window.

Abbot Boniface Wimmer: Abbot Boniface, the founder of the college, rises on the anniversary of his December 8th death and goes to the basilica to say mass for the souls of the departed. He passes through every red door in the crypt area where he's buried beneath the church to check on everyone and to find out how the school has progressed over the year. He's the most famous spirit at St. Vincent, and his sighting is jokingly referred to “freshman orientation” on campus.

And hey, there's supposed to more; we've heard that there are tales from the Grist Mill and other buildings that we haven't been able to run down. So if you have the paranormal poop on any of the stories we missed, give us a yell.

The Legend of Brubaker Bridge

2010-06-25T18:29:00.003-04:00

Photo by Anthony Dillon from Bridgehunter
OK, we end our legends segment with one of the better-known hauntings in Ohio, that of Brubaker Bridge. The bridge was built in 1887, crossing a small stream known as Sam's Run Creek in Preble County, by Gratis.

The span was small, and in the middle of nowhere. It was quietly used as a rural shortcut for decades, when in the 1930s something terrible happened. A carload of teens returning from a Grange party wrecked on the covered bridge, apparently at high speed, and their bodies were scattered everywhere.

The accident was at night, and it wasn't until late the next afternoon that a local farmer checking his cattle discovered the carnage. A gang of locals gathered at the scene, and carted away a dozen bodies, a gruesome toll on the community. The victims were buried, and the whole episode was hopefully laid to rest.

But it wasn't. The farmer who originally spotted the bodies was driving across the Brubaker Bridge afterward with his wife when his truck died. Before they could get out, they heard 13 knocks and a whispering, hissing sound, like a "shhhhh." Others traveling over the old bridge experienced the same phenomena.

The neighbors put their heads together, and made a startling discovery; there were actually thirteen teens missing from the party; one of the bodies hadn't been found, that of a boy who was known to disappear from home for days on end. They again gathered at Brubaker Bridge to search, but came up empty.

According to local lore, anyone who tries to cross over the Brubaker Bridge at night will find that their car stalls, sometimes with flickering lights, and the missing youth will tap on the vehicle, trying to get your attention, accompanied by whimpers of pain. He just hopes that someone will find his body and lay him to rest.

The bridge is also known as "crybaby bridge" because of the whispering sound, and some claim seeing approaching headlights, presumably from the doomed vehicle, but no cars ever appear.

Hey, thirteen people, a covered bridge...what better stuff could a legend be made from? There are a couple of small holes in the tale, though.

Now no one has ever discovered a newspaper clipping of the accident, and 13 kids is a lot to cram into a 1930 era vehicle, though possible. The bridge itself was renovated in 2006.

But one thing has never changed. There's still a body looking for peace after all these years, and it seems like after eight decades, he still isn't giving up.

Duffy's Cut...The Story Continues

2010-06-20T23:18:00.004-04:00

"There's a saying that under every mile of track there's an Irishman..."

Many H&H readers have asked us about the progress of the Duffy's Cut project, and we've found a new report on how it's coming along.

The Duffy's Cut saga hopefully heads towards a conclusion as an Immaculata University team, led by Frank and William Watson, tries to find the remains of Irish RR laborers who died - some by cholera, others by murder - who helped build a PRR line through Chester County in the 1830's. The local lore says that their restless spirits still roam the track.

For the original 2008 H&H story, click here.

For the Duffy Cut web site, click here.

For a BBC article on the affair, click here.

The Legend of Crazy James

2010-06-18T19:00:00.001-04:00

Drake Oil Derrick photo from Explore PA
This is one of the more popular and quite possibly true legends of the early Pennsylvania oil fields. The lore doesn't involve any spooks, but rather a spirit guide from the other side.

Abraham James was born in Chester County and went west to California to find gold. Failing there, he headed back east to Venango County, switching his focus to black gold during the nascent oil-rush years.

While riding past a field with some friends in 1868, he suddenly leaped out of the buggy and sprinted to the north end of the lot. He put a penny on the ground, spun around, and passed out. When he regained his senses, he said he was controlled by an Indian spirit that showed him the spot where there was oil. He marked it with the penny.

He was almost immediately and unanimously appointed the village idiot by the townsfolk who gave him the nickname “Crazy James.” They considered him to be even loonier than “Crazy Drake,” drilling down the road.

But he leased the field from its' owner, William Porter, erected a derrick and two storage tanks, and began to drill. For three months it looked like the townsmen were right. But then James hit a gusher at 835' down and the wildcatters rushed to Porter's field and Pleasantville.

The local mockers became James' biggest fans after the strike; their marginal farmlands suddenly became valuable property, thanks to Crazy James and his guide. And for years afterward, dowsers became popular in the area, hoping to replicate his success.

James and his Indian familiar moved on, finding at least four more producing wells in the region and locating artesian wells in Chicago. But by the 1870s they had faded from Venango history. He blew the money on poor investments, but became a hit with the Spiritualist crowd, gaining renown for his seances.

Abraham James joined his Indian guide in the spirit world on November 28, 1884 at the age of 77.

His tale was first presented in an article from the Atlantic Monthly called "A Carpet-Bagger In Pennsylvania" from June, 1869.

The Legend of Silver Run's Lady In White

2010-06-11T19:00:00.013-04:00

Silver Run tunnel photo from Legend Tripping
Silver Run Station is a small, sleepy town, located near Cairo in Ritchie County, tucked away in north central West Virginia. But a century ago, the Silver Run route was a heavily traveled line of the B&O railroad, which regularly crossed the Silver Run (#19) tunnel.

Now the line, abandoned in the 1980's, is a rail-to-trails bicycle byway. But back in the day, its tunnel was the heart of railroader legend.

Early in the 20th century, trains used to roll through the tunnel every hour. It wasn't unknown for them to hit someone on the tracks, usually a drunk who veered into the path of a speeding engine or someone committing suicide by train.

One clear night, an engineer approaching the mouth of the Silver Run tunnel noticed a mist, and out of it emerged a young, distracted woman standing on the tracks with black hair and ghostly white skin, wearing a long, shadowy white gown. In a panic, he hit the brakes, but he knew that he couldn't miss the lady in white, who just turned and stared at the approaching engine.

Just before the train reached her, the lady in white floated up and disappeared. The engineer and his crew searched for a corpse, assuming they had hit her and sent her body flying through the air, but none was found. Writing it off to a hallucination caused by tired eyes and dancing headlights, they finished the run.

But in the following weeks, the same event would sporadically play out, usually during a half moon. The engineer passed on his story, and the B&O officials transferred him to a different line. Ghost indeed!

They replaced him with a skeptic of the tale, an engineer named O'Flannery, a veteran railroader who gave no weight to the tale of an eerie woman haunting the tunnel.

Of course, he ran across her apparition the very night he took over the route, and the story spread after the run. The company told him he'd lose his job if he too was going to pass on tales of a spooked-out tunnel, suspecting it was more a case of tipsy engineers than shadows from the other side, neither being good for business.

O'Flannery swore if he saw her again, he'd run the lady in white down rather than be called on the carpet by his bosses and risk his daily bread.

Well, we all know that he had to see her again. And true to his word, when he did, he kept the pedal to the metal and drove his train right through her.

When he ended his run, his nerves jingling over the experience - what if he had actually run someone down in cold blood? - a buzzing crowd surrounded the engine. B&O workers along the way had reported that O'Flannery's cowcatcher had the body of a woman in white plastered to it, clearly illuminated by his train's massive headlight.

But as he entered the station, a fog covered the train, and when he pulled in, there was no body nor blood to be found. When he heard the story from the folks gathered at the depot, the hard-bitten O'Flannery had enough; he too requested a transfer, and got it without any questions asked.

The company began an inquiry into the Silver Run affair. What came out of the investigation was that some 25 years prior, a woman in a white gown had ridden the train to Silver Run to meet her fiancee and get married. She disappeared after leaving the train; no one had ever heard of her whereabouts since. It was widely assumed that she was the lady in white.

No one actually knew, or at least remembered, who she was, but vague recollections of a jilted bride or foul play on the way to her betrothed were stirred once again.

And the assumption seemed to be a good one. In the 1940's, the skeleton of a woman, still dressed in white shreds, was found stuffed in the chimney of a long deserted house on the outskirts of town. She was given a proper church burial, and after that, she seemed at peace and the lady in white faded into legend.

Or did she? Bikers going through the Silver Run tunnel occasionally report hearing a train whistle and seeing white orbs. And some locals say that on a half-moon night, sometimes the filmy figure of a lady in white can be seen gliding along the old railbed by the Silver Run tunnel...

Legend Of the Spirit In the Mist

2010-06-04T19:00:00.011-04:00

Glen Onoko Falls image from Waymarking
Glen Onoko, located in Carbon County, was known as Hatchet Falls back in the day, and it has an ancient legend of love and denial attached to its falling waters.

Its said that the spirit of Indian princess Onoko haunts the Falls, on the east side of Broad Mountain. There are two stories involving her.

The first is that she was in love with a white settler, upsetting her dad, the Chief, no end. He had the guy thrown over the falls to his death, solving one problem but causing another when his daughter, witnessing her Romeo's execution, also threw herself over the falls to join her lover eternally.

The second is pretty similar, except the suitor rejected by her pop was Opachee, a mere brave and thus unworthy of his daughter's hand in the chief's eyes. She tossed herself over the falls when the Chief forbid their marriage. Pretty picky guy, if you ask us.

At any rate, legend goes that at 9:15 AM of any bright, sunny morning, the "Spirit of the Mist," as Onoko's ghost is known, appears as a veiled Lady in White floating over the boiling waters below the Falls.

Charles Skinner, in his 1896 book Myths And Legends Of Our Own Land, has his own tale. In his story, Onoko is a mighty Lenni-Lanape chief. He was big, strong, and daring. Onoko was engaged to Wenonah, the fairest of her tribe, and had known nothing but success in peace, war, and love.

And as we all know, nothing tweaks the gods as much as a godlike mortal. The envious Miche Manitou, a Delaware tribe evil spirit akin to the Norse Loki, had all he could take of the noble Onoko.

One day while the happy pair were paddling around in a canoe whispering sweet nothings, Manitou struck. Skinner described him with "the scowl of hatred...on his face, thunder crashed about his head, and fire snapped from his eyes..." He was one peeved spirit.

He split the mountains, creating a huge crevasse 1,000 feet deep. The waters rushed through them, carrying our suddenly star-crossed lovers to certain doom. They wrapped their arms around each other and met their fate together. Manitou stormed back to his mountain lair, no doubt thinking it was good to be a god.

No ghosties came from the Skinner lore, just a couple of geographic tidbits. The watery chasm that Manitou created is now known as the Lehigh River. And the memory of Onoko is forever preserved in the name of a glen and cascade a short distance above Mauch Chunk.

Be careful if you want to take a little trek and try to spy Onoko. Glen Onoko Falls Trail is a very intense loop hike with 875 foot rise. A sign at the trail head warns hikers that several people have fallen to their deaths on the path. But if you can get there in one piece, it's worth the trip.

Legend of Big Liz

2010-05-28T20:32:00.001-04:00

Image from Foto Search
It seems that Big Liz was quite a woman, so much so that her legend takes on all kinds of twists and turns. It was never exactly the same in any retelling. But here's our version:

Big Liz was a slave woman who was owned by John Rustin, a Confederate fundraiser and owner of a Bucktown tobacco plantation on the Maryland Eastern Shore in southern Dorchester County.

It was obvious why she was called Big Liz - she was a huge, powerful woman, robust and strong from long days of toiling in the fields. And she most certainly did not share the political views of her master.

The boss thought she was a Union spy working with local collaborators, tipping off shipments of gold sent out from the plantation to pay the reb troops and even spilling the beans as to where his treasure trove was, hidden in the barn.

Rustin had to get rid of Big Liz and her big mouth, but he knew he couldn't take her physically mano a mano. Killing two birds with one stone, he had her carry the heavy gold chest to the nearby Greenbriar swamp and bury it. As a weary Big Liz was covering the strong box with a last shovelful of muck, Rustin struck.

He beheaded her with one mighty swipe of a foot-long tobacco knife.

Rustin buried her body in the swamp without her head, which had rolled away in the darkness. Big Liz's vengeance wouldn't wait to be served cold. It's said that he met his fate that same evening, frightened to death in his bedroom by a midnight visit from a zombie-like Liz, head tucked under her arm.

Fitting end, you say? Not quite. It's believed that Big Liz has never left the scene of her murder.

The DeCoursey Bridge crosses the serene Transquaking River as it meanders through the marshes. And if you want to meet the legend, at least in spirit, park on the bridge, turn off your car, honk your horn three times (others say you have to flash your headlights while beeping; apparently it's a pretty ritualized ceremony), and wait.

Big Liz’s presence will manifest itself. Some claim she comes as a glowing orb, or can be heard making a low, moaning sound. But the lore we prefer is that Big Liz will appear holding her head in her hands. If you follow her she will lead you through the trees and mud to where the wealth is hidden.

But no one has had the courage to follow her yet...because another piece of the legend is that Big Liz still haunts the area where the gold was buried. It cost Liz her life, and no one is going to take it from her - ever.

The Legend of Hessian Thal

2010-05-21T18:10:00.014-04:00

Camp Security photo by Patrick McIntyre on Preservation Nation
Now partially private property and partially park land in Springettsbury Township, York County, Camp Security was a POW camp during the Revolution. The prisoners were mainly the captured troops of Generals Burgoyne and Cornwallis, taken during the battles of Saratoga and Yorktown.

The camp was loosely guarded by local militiamen, and it's said if you wanted to escape, all you had to do was walk out. But many of the prisoners actually had their families living in the compound in stone huts with them, and several ran cottage industries while imprisoned.

But that doesn't mean life was easy. Although most of the detainees had no desire to escape - they were treated relatively well there and the British Army life wasn't a exactly bed of roses - many perished in camp.

Especially rough was the winter of 1782-83 when fever swept the prison. Many died, and they were buried in a little dale outside Camp Security.

This became the site of its first ghost story, a poem entitled "Hessian Thal" written by Henry L. Fisher that tells of the specters of the dead German and British soldiers arising from the graveyard every Christmas Eve. They come back to mock their commanders for losing the battles that caused them to become prisoners and ultimately meet their death at Camp Security.

The inmates were interned at the camp until the British signed the Treaty of Paris to formally end the war on April 19, 1783. After their release, some of the freed prisoners stayed in America, while the others returned to their former homelands.

But it's said that a select few remained behind - forever. There's a trail that leads through the woods to the small valley graveyard of the soldiers, and several sightings of spook troopers have been reported from there at night, prisoners who can never escape.

The Legend of the Spirit Lodge

2010-05-14T19:00:00.010-04:00

Lake Hopatcong photo from the Lake Hopatcong Commission
From the time the Lenape (Delaware) first discovered the waters of Lake Hopatcong some 12,000 years ago, it was a special place. A deep spring-fed lake formed by glaciers, it was an idyllic spot for a Native American community. Its wooded shores provided rich soil and ample game while the lake teemed with fish.

In the 1600's, the Nariticon clan of the Lenape lived on the eastern shore of Lake Hopatcong, in a large village on Halsey Island in northern New Jersey. The island was then connected to the mainland before the lake was dammed in 1750 for a forge and in 1831 for a canal.

Quaquahela, the clan's chief, decided to visit another tribe, and rowed his canoe across the lake. He reached shore, when suddenly he heard roaring and thrashing in the woods. A huge bear was charging at him.

The chief was brave, and armed with a war club and knife. But his totem was the bear; it was taboo for him to kill one. Someone should have told the bear!

Despite the tribal sanction, Quaquahela had no option but to engage the beast in combat. The chief finally dispatched the bear in a bloody contest, but lay dying on the forest floor, realizing by his deed that his spirit would never be accepted into the Happy Hunting Ground.

His body was never recovered, claimed by a wolf pack, but a friendly chieftain found the bear's body and Quaquahela's blood-crusted weapons, added two and two together, and after a fruitless search sent a messenger to the Nariticon to tell them the sad news.

About a month later, during a full moon, Quaquahela's clan saw an eerie mist spiraling up the side of a nearby hill, like the smoke from a fire. The haze formed into an unmoving cloud, despite gusty winds, and hovered over the hillside. The clan was mystified by the strange sight, and wondered why it had appeared to them.

That night, Quaquahela appeared in a dream to his medicine man. "It is I," he told him, "who have appeared in the mist on the hillside. I have killed the great bear who took my life, and so am forbidden forever to enter the spirit realm. Rather than roam the earth, I have determined to stay near my clansmen, and so have erected a spirit lodge on the hillside in the place which you saw tonight."

The chief promised the medicine man that he would be with his people on all their travels to watch over them. If they ever doubted his presence, all they had to do was look to the hillside. The mist was the smoke from his spirit lodge, and if they ever called to him, he would answer.

And while the Lenape remained by Lake Hopatcong, a call to Quaquahela was always answered by an echo in response.

Life for the Lenape would change with the arrival of the European settlers. Most of the Delaware people had died from disease or were chased from the area by the time of the American Revolution. But many Lenapes still came to the lake to drink from its waters before their ceremonies.

(The lake is now part of Hopatcong State Park, bordered by four different residential communities and a thriving recreational site.)

The legend goes that to this day, if you hail Quaquahela on the River Styx bridge towards the hillside, he will answer. But many have tried to reach him without success.

Maybe it's because they're not his clansmen. But we like to think it's because he's moved his spirit lodge to wherever the Nariticon call home, and can be found there as long as his clan needs him.

His lore is preserved by Henry Charlton Beck in Tales and Towns of Northern New Jersey and S. E. Schlosser in American Folklore.

The Legend of the Ape Boy

2010-05-07T19:00:00.000-04:00

Gossamer from Lizzy Marboc's album
Hey, kids can be cruel - and not just today. Back in the pre-revolutionary days, there was a homely boy who lived in Chester. We're talking big-time whipped with an ugly stick here.

He was a tall, gangling, red-headed child, and the other kids ragged him terribly about his looks, or lack thereof, as only rugrats can. One day he had all he could take of their taunts, and fled into the peace and quiet of the swamps around the Delaware River, near where the Commodore Barrie Bridge now connects Pennsylvania and New Jersey.

He never rejoined human society. The swamp rat roamed the mire and woods and foraged for his food. Eventually, he mutated into a half-ape, half-human critter with thick red fur covering an Ichabod Crane physique, sorta like Gossamer of Looney Tunes fame.

Now back in the day, the Chester Swamps covered a huge expanse, but over the centuries it's been drained for homes, businesses, industries, and the Philadelphia International Airport. Civilization may be surrounding our Swamp Boy, but the Tinicum Watershed Wildlife Preserve remains, and should be off limits to developers for quite a while.

It seems like both the swamp and its denizens have survived modern times. It's been said that Delaware River fishermen and folk hiking through what's now called the John Heinz Wildlife Preserve at Tinicum have reported seeing a half-human, half-ape creature loping through the undergrowth, with dirty, matted, red fur. Could it be our boy, still around after 250 years? Hey, who else?

And ya know what? If you look across the swamp, you'll see the Pine Barrens, home of another legendary critter, the Jersey Devil. Maybe Swamp Boy finally found a friend.

The story is featured in Weird Pennsylvania, written by Mark Moran, Matt Lake, and Mark Sceurman.

Legend of the White Lady

2010-04-30T19:00:00.006-04:00

White Lady's Castle - photo from Virtual Tourist by rdywenur (Chris)
At the turn of the century, Dr. Henry S. Durand owned a summer camp in Irondequoit, near Rochester, in New York's Monroe County. He and his friend George Eastman saw a need for a public park in the area and bought a number of farms around the Durand property.

They transferred the property parcel between the Genesee River and Irondequoit Bay to the people, and on May, 22, 1909, Durand Eastman Park was formally dedicated.

The park is a jewel, sporting a Lake Ontario shoreline, a Robert Trent Jones golf course, great trails, beaches, and about everything an urban boy could want to return to his outdoorsy roots - including a legendary "Lady In White."

The White Lady is well-known in local lore. The details of the legend are fuzzy and debated, but the main story is crystal clear - a man kills a girl, the mom searches unsuccessfully for her body, and finally dies, filled with pain. Then she returns from the grave to continue an eternal search, making sure to give any men she runs across a hard time on her daughter's behalf.

The story begins in the early-to-mid 1800s, when the White Lady and her daughter were said to have lived where the Durand Eastman Park now stands.

The mother was abused by her husband and he eventually split the scene, leaving her to raise her daughter alone. It also gave her quite the attitude regarding men, which carried over in her relationship with her girl (and into the afterlife).

At this point, the tale diverges a bit. One version said the teen daughter had a boyfriend that the mom disapproved of, and another claims that a neighboring farmer had been making lustful eyes at her.

The girl left the house one evening to take a walk on the beach with maybe her beau, or maybe alone. Either way, she never returned, perhaps killed by her lover boy after a spat (don't you hate it when your mother's right?) or raped and murdered by the jilted local.

The distraught mom reported her missing child to the local gendarmes, who did next to nothing about her claim (although her report is supposedly still on file; talk about your cold cases!). The White Lady took to searching the shoreline herself day after day, accompanied by her two albino German Shepherds, but they had no luck in discovering the girl's body.

Finally, overwhelmed by her grief, the mother threw herself off a cliff into Lake Ontario (or perhaps off a bridge into Durand Lake; other versions say she lived to be an old lady and died a natural death). Her dogs pined away for their mistress and shortly joined her in the netherlands.

A sad story indeed. And it's just beginning.

Legend relates that the White Lady and her two dogs rise from the foggy mists of the lake (Ontario, Durand, a pond, take your pick) at night and together they roam through Durand Eastman park, still searching for her missing daughter or any other woman in trouble.

Some isolate the Lady in White's haunting to a crumbled foundation on Lakeshore Boulevard, with a great view and reached by twenty stone steps leading from the road. The ruins are known as the "White Lady's Castle." They do in fact look like a castle's remains, made of stone with round turrets.

It's said to be the remnants of the White Lady's house or an old hotel, although local historians say that the stonework is what's left of an old Conservatory built over the bones of a former battery guarding Lake Ontario from the Canadians and their Brit buds.

The spirit is said to hateful toward males (little wonder) and pounces on men relentlessly, seeking her vengeance against the guys visiting the park for her daughter, especially when they're with a girl. Mother's instinct, hey?

She actively seeks out guys, supposedly searching vehicles for necking couples. The White Lady picked a good spot for her mission, too - her castle is party central for teens and a popular lover's lane. Many young couples have allegedly been scared witless during their smooch sessions after seeing a white apparition with two spectral dogs drift towards their car. And it doesn't pay to be brave.

There have been many reports of the White Lady chasing men into the lake, shaking their cars, scratching their faces, sending her dogs (oddly, most reports say they're Doberman's) after them, and generally raising havoc until they leave the park. She has reportedly never touched any females, although they've seen her and her dogs. They say she seems very peaceful, yet extremely sad. (The guys may argue the peaceful part).

It's also been claimed that the daughter's muffled cries and sobs can be heard near the Castle. But it's not the only place the White Lady and her pooches visit. The Lady in White has been spotted all over park, even on the golf course. Her misty form has even been allegedly photographed a couple of times.

Many consider her not to be a spiteful spook, but a guardian spirit (well, the girls, anyway).

It is said that if a gal suspects that her guy has been fooling around, one acid test of fidelity is to take him to the park. If he has been untrue, the White Lady will come a callin'. He'll be the only one able to see her, and she'll use her supernatural wiles to compel him to tell all about his cheatin' heart. Hey, who needs a big scene or Sodium Pentothal when the Lady in White is waiting in the wings?

There's an almost entirely different spin thrown on the tale by "Rochester - Off the Beaten Path" on the Virtual Tourist site. It goes like this:

In an age when the mentally ill were hidden away, she, the insane wife of the influential Dr. Durand, was cloistered in their vacation home on the lake. Abandoned and embarrassed by a philandering husband, she torched the house. The charred bodies of her nurse and orderly were found in the rubble (now known as The White Lady Castle) but Mrs. Durand had disappeared. Lady Durand roams the park, hunting unwitting young men who, she believes, take advantage of the young women who accompany them.

While there are multiple versions of the White lady legend, how many ghosts can claim to be the inspiration for a movie? Writer/director Frank LaLoggia is said to have created his 1988 supernatural thriller "The Lady in White' based on her lore.

Her legend is featured in many books, including Weird New York by Chris Gethard and Spooky New York by folklorist S.E. Schlosser.

The locals even get into the act, hosting a "Lady in White" candlelight Halloween Ghost Walk.

(While researching this post, H&H ran across nine other "Lady In White" legends based in New York alone. Geez, aren't there any ladies in black or red?)

The Legend of Betty Knox

2010-04-23T17:49:00.008-04:00

Dunbar Creek image from High Country Fish
Between Ohiopyle and Dunbar in Pennsylvania's Fayette County lies the Dunbar Mountains, and that's where Betty Knox and her legend originate.

Betty was born in 1842 on a farm at Kentuck Knob atop the Great Gorge of the Youghiogheny (now Ohiopyle State Park). Her mother died when she was three, and her father raised her as a son. She did all the hard work of a nineteenth century farmer, clearing, plowing, planting, weeding, and reaping. In between, she raised the cattle, cut the wood, drove the ox teams, and of course cooked the meals.

When she was seventeen, her father died, and she was left to her own devices. Betty, despite the hard work, had turned out to be a beautiful, flaxen-haired girl, and had no shortage of suitors, being lovely, single, and a property owner. But she spurned all the locals and lived a solitary life.

Knox earned her daily bread by hauling grain to Ferguson's Mill near Dunbar, powered by her oxen, and returned with flour, a day-long, twenty-five mile trek. In fact, she traveled such an undeviating route that she carved her own trail through the forest.

Where her journey crossed Dunbar creek is still known locally as Betty Knox Park, along with the fresh water spring that she lined with stone.

One evening in 1862, while on the way home from the mill, she found a badly wounded soldier, who told her he had deserted from the Union Army. Betty took the soldier home, hid him from the Army, and nursed his wounds. She became smitten by her soldier, but despite long months of Betty's TLC, he finally died. Knox, although heartbroken, returned to her routine.

Years later, Betty Knox, who had never missed a day of work in her life, suddenly quit showing up to collect the farmer's grain. Alarmed, the neighbors went to her home to see if she was sick, but the house was empty. Search parties swept the forest and retraced her trail, but found not a sign of her.

Theories concerning her disappearance abounded. Some claimed that wolves or a panther had attacked her, while others darkly speculated that a rejected lover had ambushed her, or perhaps a gang of thieves.

Others thought that she had never gotten over losing her soldier and plunged to her death in the Youghiogheny River. It may have been that she was just tired of her life in the woods, pulled up roots, and found a new home. To this day, no one really knows.

The following spring some children found the skeleton of an ox chained to a tree near Betty's spring; odd, because that very trail had been scoured by her search party without finding the ox, and also because Knox never used a chain on her animals. Still, that didn't explain what happened to Betty Knox.

But one thing is certain - Betty Knox is still around, at least in spirit.

Young couples out for a late night drive claim to hear the mournful lolling of oxen miles from the nearest farm. Park visitors report hearing her sobbing. Sportsmen tell of a pale feminine form that flickers through the trees before daylight. Others report seeing a woman leading an oxen team along the trail. And on some dark nights, the pained voice of a young man can be barely heard whispering "Betty Knox, Betty Knox."

(As a footnote, you may not have to worry about running into Betty's ghost. An enterprising local claimed to have captured it in a mason jar, and sold it on eBay for $2.51. Now there's a legend for you, and at a blue light price!)

If you're curious, Betty Knox Park is now part of the State Gamelands, located off Dunbar - Ohiopyle Road about three miles from Dunbar. Look for a Game Commission building on the right at a sharp curve. The gravel road to right of the shed (called "Betty Knox Road" but without any signage) will take you along Dunbar Creek to where Betty's oxen were found.

H&H rummaged through several sources for this post, but the best tale by far is told on the Connellsville Ghost Stories site.

Fort Dix Demons

2010-04-17T20:39:00.001-04:00

Walson Army Hospital - Fort Dix
Located in central New Jersey, Fort Dix is named for Major General John Adams Dix, a veteran of the War of 1812 and the Civil War.

It has been training soldiers since its founding in 1917, including H&H back in his Army days. In fact, more than three million men and women have passed through its gates since it was established as one of the original sixteen Army training camps built for World War I.

Today, the camp is a major training and mobilization center for the Army Reserve and National Guard after barely evading closure. Fort Dix also lies almost entirely within the Barrens of New Jersey, and we all know what that means.

There have been, as paranormal starters, many reported sightings of the Jersey Devil by soldiers during World War II, with a resurgence in the 1990s. Well, hey, that's to be expected; the Barrens is its hangout and the Devil is Jersey's unofficial state monster.

But Building 5418 at Fort Dix, the Walson Hospital in its heyday, is spook Central. The structure is a clinic now with its top five floors shuttered, but once hosted a psychiatric ward and its basement was the fort's morgue, a deadly duo of apparition generators.

Walson is without question the most active spot on the installation. Accounts of floating orbs, the opening and closing of doors and windows, lights going on and off, unexplained drops in temperature, sense of presence, furniture getting tossed around, electronics going haywire - pretty much the gamut of spectral trickery.

The top of the spectral food chain includes the sightings of orbs and ghostly visitors. The former morgue and psychiatric ward are usually where the eerie stories originate.

Most of the poltergeist-type activity happens on the seventh floor, the psych ward. That's also where the orbs appear, along with all the other ghostly going-ons.

The OB floor is another place where the dead don't rest. At one point, it's successful delivery rate was said to be just 60%, an embarrassment to even third world countries, and eventually Fort Dix's deliveries were handled by an off-base hospital.

There are regular stories of babies crying. It's also home to an eternal orderly. The OB floor is always said to be always freshly mopped. There is a mop and bucket propped in a corner that remain from its working days, and the floor seems wet, with foot prints across it, but the mop and bucket are bone dry - and have been for years.

The morgue is where the ghosties hang out. It's reported that you can feel and see the spirits in the basement, and that if you sit in the old gurney, ghostly hands will push you towards the body cooler. Brrrr! Another story involves the sounds of a grown man crying. People believe that a spirit watches the base at night through the morgue windows.

The hospital isn't the only place that's home to shadows. There's a couple of places near base housing units that have eerie reports, too.

Kennedy Court residents on Pemberton Road have reported glowing red eyes that peer at them from the nearby woods at night, and a trail that no wildlife or sound ever cross.

Garden Terrace neighbors on Cedar Street tell of a teenage boy, dressed in jeans, a jacket, and red cap who can be spotted walking down the street...and then disappears right before your eyes.

But there's not much chance of you getting in on the spectral fun. The Army has enough ghosts that it doesn't allow tours, and Walson, as we understand, is slated to be demolished with all its bad ju-ju. So unless you quickly enlist in the Reserves...

Fort Meigs

2010-04-10T14:05:00.002-04:00

Fort Meigs photo from Grave Addictions
Fort Meigs is located in Perrysburg, Ohio, now a suburb of 17,000 souls outside of Toledo in Wood County.

The fort was built along the Maumee River by Brigadier General William Henry Harrison in 1813, who named it for the Governor of Ohio, Return Jonathan Meigs. The garrison was home for over 2,000 troops, made up of U.S. regulars and militiamen from Ohio, Kentucky, Pennsylvania, and Virginia.

It was constructed to halt the advance of the redcoats after their victory at Detroit and protect northwest Ohio and Indiana during the War of 1812. Fort Meigs is the largest log fort ever built in America, covering ten acres with seven blockhouses and five gun emplacements.

British and Canadian troops, along with Native Americans under the command of Tecumseh, attacked the fort twice, in May of 1813 and again in July. The Americans repulsed both of the onslaughts, and the British retreated from the area for good after September's Battle of Lake Erie turned the tide of war against them.

Having defeated the British, Harrison transferred all but 100 men from Fort Meigs and dismantled the fort. The site was preserved by the Hayes family who purchased the land to use as cattle pasture. In 1840, William Henry Harrison returned to the site to hold a rally during his successful run for the Presidency.

In 1908 the Grand Army of the Republic, an organization of Civil War veterans, held a reunion in Toledo,. To commemorate their arrival and to honor the memory of the soldiers who served at Fort Meigs, a monument was erected on the site.

The fort was reconstructed by the Ohio Historical Society starting in 1965 and was opened in 1974, recreating the stockade as it was during 1813. It's now a 65 acre park.

There are four unmarked cemeteries in the vicinity of the fort. The first is located near the Pennsylvania monument in front of the fort. The second is on the western side of the fort where a weeping willow tree is planted. The third is located on the eastern side of the outside wall.

These are military plots, the western one called Kentucky Hill to commemorate the fallen soldiers of that state who died in Dudley's Massacre, and another dedicated to the Pennsylvania soldiers that died during the battles.

One hundred and fifty to three hundred soldiers stationed at Fort Meigs are entombed below its palisades, along with the Pennsylvania and Kentucky Militias. To this day historians still don't know the exact number of soldiers buried at the site, but it could well be over five hundred bodies.

A fourth grave site is an Indian burial ground near the river. The use of the location well predates the War of 1812, and there are prehistoric Indian mounds on the grounds.

Visitors, volunteers, and reenactors have seen the apparitions of both American soldiers and Native American warriors. Many have seen what they thought was a re-enactor in full dress who would appear and just as quickly vanish before their eyes.

A number of unexplained occurrences center on the eastern end of the fort, including phantom sentries and the ghostly visage of a small girl peering out the second story window of Blockhouse #3.

Strange auras, cold spots, lights turning on and off, the sound of muskets and cannons firing, and the music of drums and fifes have also been reported. Others have heard footsteps, seen orbs of blue light, and translucent human forms while staying at the fort overnight.

The fort has so many ghost stories that it hosts a Ghost Walk during the last two weeks of October, known as the Garrison Ghost Walk.

if you want to know more, the Fort's paranormal history is mentioned in Ghosthunting Ohio by John B. Kachuba and Haunted Ohio V: 200 years of Ghosts by Chris Woodyard.

Carlisle Barracks

2010-04-03T17:55:00.000-04:00

The Carlisle barracks started out as a temporary encampment for Colonel John Stanwix's British troops in 1757. It was fought over in the Civil War, lost out to West Point for the honor of becoming the nation's military academy, shared some facilities with the Carlisle Indian School, and now hosts the Army's War College.

It's got quite a few tales associated with it from the past, from military encounters to the children of the Indian school. Here's its haunted history:

Ashburn Guest House: The spooks reported here are Charlie, a young Confederate soldier, and a Native American girl. The basement is said to be especially filled with spirits. It served as a morgue in its' past.

Bandstand: It's said that you can still hear the Carlisle Indian School band performing there on some summer evenings.

Coren Apartments: Once the teacher's housing for the Carlisle Indian School and now officer apartments, two ghosts are reported from here. One is the spirit of Lucy Pretty Eagle, a young Indian girl who was the first child to die at the school. Some people dispute that, and believe the ghost is that of an unnamed Indian girl who was a live-in maid for the teachers. Whichever tale you accept, Lucy has been reportedly seen on the grounds and in the cemetery.

The other spook is of Civil War era Brigadier General Philip St. George Cooke. His daughter married reb raider Jeb Stuart while he was assigned to Carlisle before the war, while he was still a Union officer. Stuart flipped sides and actually helped torch Carlisle the day before the Gettysburg battle. It's said that Cooke's ghost keeps tearing Stuart's portrait off the wall and shattering it. He still holds a grudge after all these years.

Flower Road Houses: The spirit of a lady in a green gown walks in and out of the houses. She may be the same woman seen in the Letort View Community Center.

Hessian Powder Magazine: Built in 1777 by Hessian POWs, the building is now a museum of military artifacts. But in its day, it served as not only a powder magazine, but guardhouse and later as a detention cell for Native Americans that didn't toe the line at Carlisle Indian School. It's said to also be haunted by the spirits of the Hessian prisoners that built it.

Letort View Community Center: The ghosts alleged to be roaming the Center are those of Jim Thorpe, a lady in a ball gown - maybe she's the Flower Road spook - and a farmer, along with several Native American spirits from the Indian School. The basement is alleged to be filled with ghosts.

They call it Purgatory because of all the spirits it hosts that are trapped between the here and the hereafter. In fact, one visitor claimed to see a lady spook down there, wielding a bloody butcher's knife!

Old Gym: The spirits reported here are those of Jim Thorpe, a young Native American boy, and a basketball team (well, where else would they haunt?)

Washington Hall Guest House: It's said that people have been awakened in the middle of the night by babies crying while sleeping in the Guest House.

Fort McHenry

2010-03-27T17:55:00.000-04:00

Fort McHenry from City Data
Hey, we might as well keep the fort tour going and move on to one of America's most revered forts, Baltimore's Fort McHenry.

At Fort McHenry the fledgling American forces held out against the British forces in 1814 and helped saved the new young nation after the fall of Washington during the War of 1812.

During the battle, Francis Scott Key famously wrote our National Anthem, "The Star-Spangled Banner." The banner would be hard to miss. Sewn by Mary Young Pickersgill and her daughter, it measured a whopping 40'x 32'!

And there's an eerie aside to the anthem - its melody was lifted from a British drinking song entitled "To Anacreon in Heaven." But yah, there are some real spooks roaming Fort McHenry, too.

During its existence, the fort dungeons held POWs and other assorted military neer-do-wells. National Park rangers working at the Fort report hearing bodiless footsteps, windows being opened and closed, floating furniture, unnatural auras, and doors slamming. They've allegedly seen lights turned back on after they've turned them off.

An oft-reported spook is that of a black soldier, dressed in 19th century military gear and marching back-and-forth, rifle on shoulder, on a fort footpath. His sighting lasts a few seconds before he disappears into the Maryland mists.

There have also been tales of an evil entity that haunts the inner halls of Fort McHenry.

But a couple of the Fort McHenry shadows have names and stories.

One of the apparitions that's known is that of Lieutenant Levi Claggett, who was killed, along with several of his men, by a direct hit on his post, Gun Bastion #3, during the fight. Since then, there have been numerous sightings of Claggett's ghost.

National Park rangers at the fort have reported the indistinct figure of a man walking where Claggett was killed. A photo was allegedly taken near his battery placement that shows the faint outline of a man invisible to the eye when the photo was snapped. One fort docent claimed to see a man floating above ground level.

Some spookologists surmise that Claggett's appearance is a residual haunting, kind of a never-ending movie of his fort life. He was killed so suddenly that his spirit is stuck in the eternal rut of his barrack's routine.

One other ghostie is identified by name.

Private John Drew, a 28 year-old trooper, was on guard duty, but the next morning, when his relief arrived, he was sound asleep. Drew was taken straight to the guard-house, but along the way he managed to slip a rifle he found leaning against the wall into his cell. Later, he stuck the muzzle into his mouth and pulled the trigger.

He may have thought that he was going to be shot for dereliction of duty anyway and decided to save the Army the trouble. Some speculate that because Drew shirked his responsibility in life, he has been condemned to stand eternal guard duty at Fort McHenry.

It's been said that people have seen the shadowy figure of Drew along the fort parapets, keeping an eagle eye on the fort as he should have done 125 years before.

Fort McHenry has been featured on the TV show "Haunted History," has its own Ghost Tour, and is in just about every book written about paranormal Baltimore. So if you like your history haunted...

Fort Necessity

2010-03-21T12:45:00.003-04:00

Fort Necessity from Grave Addiction
Hey, one thing that this region has is haunted forts; the French, English, and Americans all have left their share from centuries old campaigns.

We'll pop back into Pennsylvania for today's spooky outpost, a fairly famous one, Farmington's Fort Necessity. It's located in Fayette County, about fifty miles southeast of Pittsburgh. (If you know the area, it's where the Nemacolin resort is located.)

During the French and Indian War, George Washington led a band of intrepid Virginians and South Carolinians to Great Meadows in 1754 to boot the French out of their digs at Fort Duquesne.

First, things started off swell when the militia surprised a band of French. Seneca chief Half-King allegedly killed the French commander, an ensign named Jumonville, after the battle when he was a POW. Jumonville's brother, Colonel De Villiers, swore to take a little revenge on George and his Colonials, and got it after he attacked the fort five weeks later.

Washington built a round wooden fortification to hold off the French and their Indian allies. It didn't help. The Father of the Country got his powdered wig handed to him and had to slink back to Virginia, tail between his legs, after one-third of his men were killed or wounded in the battle. It would be the only time Washington surrendered a command.

He would come back later with General Braddock, and quickly learned getting whipped is preferable to getting massacred.

Considering all the mayhem, Fort Necessity is really quite gently spooked. Visitors have heard phantom gunfire and musketry pop around the fort, and the staff and rangers have reported disembodied footsteps in the visitors center.

The only truly ghostly experience was a story told by a French and Indian War era reenactor. He was wandering around in the woods when a squad of period-dressed soldiers hailed him and told him to join up; they had a war to fight. The reenactor was happy to hook up...until a few paces into the woods, his unit disappeared in front of his eyes.

But Pittsburgh is still haunted to this day by that campaign; its principals still roam the City in the form of Washington Boulevard, Devilliers Street, and Jumonville Street, all named after ghosts of Fort Necessity. Eerie, hey?

Fort Ticonderoga

2010-03-14T10:35:00.008-04:00

Fort Ticonderoga from the National Park Service
Hey, since we've been visiting old forts of late, we thought we'd continue the tour and take a jaunt to New York's Lake Champlain North Country and Fort Ticonderoga.

It was first know as Fort Carillon, when the French manned it between 1755 and 1759 during the Seven Years War. The fort was there to protect the lake's water route and a small trading post. It was surrounded by 20 foot high walls, and the fort, with its outliers and grounds, covered over 450 acres.

Carillon held off one Brit attack in 1758, but a year later, the redcoats overwhelmed it. And so began its first spook tale, that of Black Watch Major Duncan Campbell, who died during the first attempt to take the bastion, and the Inverawe Curse.

He was in his family's ancestral digs of Inverawe when he inadvertently hid the murderer of a clansman, his cousin Donald. Donald appeared to him from the astral plane shortly thereafter, chided him, and told Duncan "Farewell, farewell, until we meet at Ticonderoga." "Ticonderoga," the Major mused, "now where could that be?" He had never heard of the place.

Campbell found out soon enough, when a French cannonball sent him to join Donald in the afterlife. He's still buried in Union Cemetery; his family, recalling his perfidy, never reclaimed his body. Some locals and relatives with short memories gather on the anniversary of his death at his otherwise forgotten tombstone.

The fort would switch hands several times during the Revolution, but it wasn't until the British surrendered at Yorktown that the Americans could claim it once and for all. But with the war over, its military value plummeted.

The land became the property of the state of New York in 1785. William Pell bought the rundown fort and its grounds in 1820. He built "The Pavilion" by the lake to serve as a summer home, and then switched it over to become the Fort Ticonderoga Hotel in 1840 when the area became a nexus for canals, railroad lines - and tourists.

A couple of generations later, Stephen and Sarah Pell began restoration of the fort in 1909, opening it to the public with much hoopla; President Taft even showed for the festivities. Today, much of the fort has been restored, and is open as a museum and rental facility.

The Pavilion is said to be haunted by the ghost of Sarah Pell, who lived there in the 1920s and 1930s. She's been spotted gazing out of the window overlooking the King’s Garden.

The fort museum cleaning staff find that their collection pieces have been moved to different places, despite being in locked glass display cases. Red glowing orbs have been seen floating throughout several of the fort's rooms. Some claim that they've heard disembodied hoof beats, footfalls, and French voices, and seen misty silhouettes in the windows.

Several sightings of a red coated figure in one of the upper windows of the south barracks have been reported. The gate house staff have heard women crying outside the window when nobody is there.

Others have seen the ghost of a woman roaming the fort and the lake area. That would be the shadow of Nancy Coates, a local gal who was one of General Mad Anthony Wayne's main squeezes.

Convinced by catty Ticonderoga wagging tongues that Wayne had left her for another woman, Coates threw herself into Lake Champlain and drowned; her lifeless body to this day has been allegedly spotted floating in the water. She's been reported running along the footpaths near the fort by the entrance gate, too, waiting for Wayne to return to her arms, often sobbing.

Wayne’s ghost has supposedly been eyed in the fort's dining room, sitting by a fireplace, smoking a pipe and drinking from a pewter mug.

And hey, we haven't even mentioned Champ, America's version of Nessie, said to live in Lake Champlain's water since Native American days.

Anyway, you can read up on the fort's phantoms in the pages of Nancy Roberts "America's Most Haunted Places" and Michael Norman and Beth Scott's "Haunted Heritage." Ghost Hunters ran an episode about it. Paranormal investigators visiting the site outnumber its spirits.

The locals push its haunted history, too - it's a spooked out Halloween House, and they also offer summer Ghost tours.

Antsy In Antes

2010-03-07T09:36:00.003-05:00

Image from Mr. Boonie
Antes Fort was once a colonial outpost in Lycoming County, near Williamsport. William Penn's agents had bought the land from Andaste Tribal Chief King Wi-daagh.

Wi-daagh eventually came to realize that for the few trinkets he received in exchange, he had been swindled by the Englishmen. His spirit has since been seen roaming the Nippenose Valley, a sacred site to the Andastes, as an eerie form of eternal protest.

A stone column from the Pennsylvania State Capitol was placed to honor King Wi-daagh along the banks of Antes Creek in 1900, commemorating the treaty. Visitors report a ghostly mist coming off the waters of Wi-daugh's Spring, especially during the fall; some say its natural, some say it's Wi-daagh forming the mist.

In another dirty deed done to the Native Americans, Colonel John Henry Antes, who commanded the fort in the late 1700s and became the town's namesake, gave the local Indians some blankets that had covered smallpox victims.

The early biological warfare trick worked and decimated the Indians. They swore never-ending revenge, and it's said that the homes in Ante's Fort have been haunted by the dead Indian's spooks ever since.

(These tales were used with permission by HistoricWilliamsport.com, and are from "Spooky Lycoming County" by Lou Hunsinger Jr.)

Harpers Ferry Phantoms

2010-02-27T20:19:00.001-05:00

John Brown's Fort photograph by Joy Schoenberger
Harpers Ferry is a well-known town of 300 souls located in Jefferson County, West Virginia. It's situated at the confluence of the Potomac and Shenandoah rivers where the states of Maryland, Virginia and West Virginia meet.

It's famous for John Brown's raid, and indeed has a spook or two left over from that day, but its haunted history begins, well, at its beginning.

In 1750, town namesake Robert Harper was given a grant for 125 acres at the present location of the town. In 1761, he established a ferry across the Potomac, making the town a starting point for settlers moving into the Shenandoah Valley and westward bound.

He and his bride, Rachel, began building the Harper House, today the oldest surviving structure in Harpers Ferry and operated by the National Park Service.

Now ol' Bob made quite a haul ferrying folk back and forth, but he had a problem figuring out where he could safely stash his gold. He went to a tried and true method to safeguard his wealth - Harper instructed Rachel to bury all of their gold and not breath a word about its location.

Harper wasn't in great health, and passed over to the other side. Rachel met with a sudden, accidental death while completing work on the House, and guess what: no one knew where the Harper fortune was.

Starting in the 1800s, it was claimed that the Harper House was haunted. Hey, it still has that rep today. Visitors report that they've seen an old woman dressed in 18th century finery staring from an upper-floor window, fixated on the old Harper Garden. It's said to be Rachel, still watching over the family strongbox through the decades.

In 1798, soldiers were stationed just above Harpers Ferry, positioned there during a cold war tiff with the French. As it never developed into a shooting war, the bored troopers would parade nightly through the town, led by a fife and drum corp.

Still, many of them died there, victims of a cholera epidemic, and are buried at nearby Camp Hill. And if you listen closely, it's said that one can hear them parading down the street to this day, marching to the music of fifes and drums.

The next spirit to roam the area is that of Jenny, a famed apparition among West Virginia's railroaders. In the 1830s, Jenny, who lived near the tracks, brushed too close to the hearth in her house, and caught her dress afire.

Panicked, she ran into the night to try to put out the fire, but in her blind rush, Jenny dashed right in front of an oncoming train. The engine snuffed out the fire; it also snuffed out Jenny.

Her ghost still haunts the old Armory Yards. Sometimes in the night, one can hear train whistles blow and the screech of brakes pressing against the tracks. Engineers swear that they saw a flaming figure and felt a bump when they reached her, but when they check, no one's there. It's just Jenny, reliving her past.

Now we get to John Brown. Some tales say that he still spooks the area with his black dog, walking down the street. In fact, he even agreed to be photographed by people that believed he was a reenactor. But when they developed the film, his image was gone.

But maybe the best known phantom is one of the slaves who accompanied him on the raid, Dangerfield Newby. He was killed by the locals when a shot struck him in the neck. His body was mutilated, and then left in an alley for the pigs to feast upon.

To this day that lane bears the name of "Hog Alley." And he's still in town. It's claimed that a middle-aged black man with a slouch hat and a jagged scar across his throat still walks the streets of Harper Ferry; it's thought to be the shadow of Newby.

The Civil War was quite traumatic for Harpers Ferry (it was part of Virginia until the war's end), which was captured and recaptured eight times between 1861 and 1865.

Because of the town's strategic location on the railroad and at the northern end of the Shenandoah Valley, both Union and Confederate troops moved through the burg frequently, and the battle of Harpers Ferry was fought from September 13-15, 1862, a prelude to Antietam.

And that's how St. Peter's Catholic Church got to join the list of haunted locales in Harpers Ferry. St Peters was the only church in Harpers Ferry to survive the Civil War in one piece (it was said that the pastor would raise a British Union Jack over the holy house during combat to indicate neutrality; he's probably lucky both sides didn't use it for target practice), and often served as a hospital.

One of the soldiers being treated there was said to have muttered "Thank God, I'm saved," as the docs looked him over. He was wrong, at least in the corporal sense; he died. Now people report that some nights they will see a golden aura glow near the church doors and hear a weak voice whispering, "Thank God I'm saved."

The other apparitions aren't war-related; no one seems to know what their cause may be. One is the vision of a priest, so realistic that church visitors speak to him. The padre walks from the rectory without a word, and then passes through the walls of the church.

Another eerie occurrence is the sound of a baby crying, which can be heard on the front steps. Again, there's no historical reference for this event.

While not exactly ghostly, it's been reported that one can catch sight of an orange glow in the night skies from Maryland Heights. That scene is said to be a replay of the final act of a hungry troop of young Civil War soldiers. They were unable to light a fire to cook their evening meal, and decided to prime the flames with an artillery shell, blowing themselves and their chow to high heaven.

Another area to keep a paranormal eye on is the "Haunted Cottage," a home that John Wilkes Booth rented in 1859 when he attended John Brown's hanging. It's on its way to becoming a ghost museum, and so far has just been the object of electronic glitches, often a sign of spooky activity - or bad wiring.

(The stories are taken in the main from "A Ghostly Tour of Harpers Ferry" by Shirley Dougherty and are part of Harper Ferry's ghost tour.)

Barnum's Cannibals

2010-02-20T12:54:00.000-05:00

P.T. Barnum from Wikipedia
This isn't a ghost story, but it is one of the weirder tales to come out of the fair town of York, a textbook example of Phineas Taylor Barnum's ability to generate - some say fabricate - a story.

First, a bit of history. The York Judicial Center now stands on the site of the old Penn Hotel, which was razed for the Pennsylvania House Hotel.

PT Barnum stayed in the Pennsy House in 1872 during a stop of his "P. T. Barnum's Grand Traveling Museum, Menagerie, Caravan & Hippodrome", the self proclaimed "Greatest Show on Earth". His act included 4 purported genuine Fijian cannibals, allegedly ransomed from the King of Fiji before they became the special of the day from his kitchen.

One of them, a dwarf, took ill. He died uttering "Fiji" as his last word, and was laid out in a hotel room. The man watching over his remains locked the door and left for half an hour. When he returned, the two remaining male cannibals were merrily nibbling away on the corpse while being scolded by the lone female, who apparently was Christian and had renounced her man-eating ways.

At least, that's what the York Daily reported. The town's other paper, the True Democrat, called the story whole bunkum. And we'll never know which was right; was it just a clash of cultures or another ink-grabbing hoax by the master?

What was left of the poor cannibal was buried in the local Potter's Field with 700 other unmarked, unclaimed, and unknown bodies. 25 years later, the bodies were disinterred, and people were eager to open the Fijian's coffin and see if he was intact or was indeed served up as his showmate's entree.

Alas, the coffin was empty! It seems a local doctor hired a professional ghoul to snatch the body, which he proudly exhibited in his office as a showpiece skeleton. And he never told anyone if the corpse had any bites out of it. So we'll never know if Barnum pulled another fast one or if the cannibals indeed enjoyed one final nostalgic midnight snack.

Sagamore Hotel

2010-02-14T11:36:00.001-05:00

Sagamore Hotel
In upstate New York, past Albany and hard on the Vermont border in the Adirondack Mountains, lies Bolton Landing. One of its' major draws is the Sagamore Hotel, located on a Lake George island and an elegant lodge that opened in 1883 and was restored in 1930 and 1985. And it hosts more than its paying guests.

If you're in the restaurant, keep an eye peeled for a couple that are dressed in nineteenth period outfits and stroll the eatery's lounge after coming down from the second floor.

They're supposed to be the shadows of a pair of original hotel regulars, circa 1880. Their behavior is a bit on the odd - and violent - side.

They argue, and the man throws the lady to the floor. She responds by grabbing at him before the pair fade into the carpet. Guess the honeymoon was over for that couple.

The dining area has also been frequented by the apparition of a tall woman with flowing blond hair, dressed in a white gown. She once visited the kitchen, said a few unintelligible words to the cook, and then walked through him before disappearing. Needless to say, the chef quit on the spot.

And she's not the only lady in white (unless the dining room ghost works the whole hotel.) There's another mysterious lady in white who enters the rooms, accompanied by chills. It's said that she rouses sleeping guests by peering into their faces and blowing her cold breath on their shut eyelids. Not too surprisingly, many guest have reported spending sleepless nights and the sense of being watched

You have to be vigilant on the elevator, too. There are tales of a chubby gent with an old-timey walrus mustache, dressed in a fine three-piece brown suit, sporting a gold watch fob, who's been known to take an eerie ride or two up and down the floors. It's said that he can be felt with not-so-subtle nudges before he materializes behind you - and when he leaves the car, he takes three steps and vanishes into thin air. The staff nicknamed him "Walter."

But all the spooks aren't relics of the good ol' days. There's the tale of a mischievous youth that dates back to the 1950's.

The imp was a ball boy on the golf course; he'd retrieve lost Titleists and sold them back to the pro. One day, a ball bounded over a roadway abutting the course, and the tyke sprinted after it. Unfortunately, he didn't look both ways, and was dispatched to the other side by a speeding car.

His spook now haunts the golf course and toys with the golfers. He steals golf balls hit into the rough, and can be heard laughing maniacally while players trudge through the rough in search of their wayward shots. When they finally give up, he returns the balls to them by tossing it at the hacker from behind a tree. Not much different from modern-day caddies, is he?

So if you hanker to play a Donald Ross golf course with a spook ball boy or spend a couple of nights in nineteenth century splendor with an unexpected guest or two, the Sagamore Hotel is the spot for you.

(Don't confuse this Sagamore with the old, also haunted Sagamore Hotel that was located in Pennsylvania's Armstrong county; it burned down in 2005)

Antietam

2010-02-06T10:28:00.008-05:00

Antietam print by Thure de Thulstrup
The Rebs and Yankee forces clashed at Antietam Creek, near Sharpsburg, Maryland, on September 17, 1862. The Gray had just thumped the Blue at Manassas, and were launching their first invasion of the North. If successful, the Confederacy might have won the war.

It instead became the bloodiest single day of conflict in American history, with 23,100 men wounded, missing, or dead after twelve hours of savage combat. Six generals died during the battle. The bloodbath ended up a draw, but strategically was a Union win, as the massive toll in men blunted the Confederate march on the North.

And like at Gettysburg, the imprint of the dead still remains.

The sunken road ("Bloody Lane") was one of the brutal actions played out that day. When the curtain closed on this battle, there were about 5,500 casualties. And some haven't left. Witnesses report hearing ghostly gunfire and the smelling spectral smoke and gunpowder. A visitor reportedly saw several men in Confederate uniforms walking down the road. He assumed they were re-enactors when they suddenly vanished before his eyes.

The most famous story of Antietam happened here. Schoolboys from Baltimore on a field trip heard strange noises that sounded like voices singing the noel "Deck the Halls" in a language they couldn't quite understand. But they could make out the "Fa-la-la-la-la".

The Union Irish Brigade had staged a charge there, and as they attacked the Confederate positions, they shouted their battle cry of Faugh-a-Balaugh ("Clear the Way"). It would sound like "Fah-ah-bah-lah." Was that the carol the kids heard?

General George McClellan used Phillip Pry's House as his headquarters during the battle. General Israel B. Richardson died there. The house, owned by the National Park Service and used for storage, isn’t open to visitors.

A woman saw a ghost of a female dressed in period clothing walk down the staircase, and workers saw the same apparition standing in an upper window in the room where Richardson died (a room, that due to construction work at the time, had no floor!). It’s thought that she’s the spook of his wife, Frances, who nursed him during his final hours.

Sounds of phantom footsteps that have been heard pacing on the staircase. A National Park Service worker claimed to see a blue lantern make its way down the old road, which now is in the middle of a field.

Another hot spot is the Rohrback (now called Burnside) Bridge where General Ambrose Burnside paid a bloody wage to cross. Many of his fallen soldiers were quickly buried in unmarked graves near the bridge because of the deadly accurate fire of the Georgia troops defending the span. Witnesses have seen blue balls of light wafting through the night mists and reported the rat-a-tat of a phantom drum beating out cadence before fading away.

Reb General Longstreet used the Piper House as his headquarters and its barn was used as a field hospital. There were so many troopers to treat that three soldiers actually died under the piano in the parlor.

People have heard mysterious sounds and have seen ghostly forms that appear and vanish, representing both armies. Strangely, the area of the house with the most tales is a section that was added on well after the battle, circa 1900. Guests tell of hearing muffled voices and odd sounds in a bedroom, and report a misty apparition which appears in a bathroom doorway.

Some think that the new wing of the house was built over the top of graves of those who died in the battle, disturbing the soldiers from their eternal rest and causing the hauntings.

Saint Paul Episcopal Church was used as a Confederate field hospital after the battle. Visitors have claimed they heard the screams of the dying and injured coming from inside of the building, and have seen lights flickering in its tower. Legend has it that the floorboards in the house are still stained with blood that can't be removed.

A pair of park rangers were doing their nightly rounds and were spooked by a blue translucent figure in the open doorway of Otto House, which was used as a hospital after the battle. The ghostly figure looked like a Southern belle in a hoop skirt standing in doorway of the house, gazing toward town.

The rangers flew away from the ghostly lady, and retold the story to their coworkers. They had identical tales. It seems as if the ghostly Southern belle has been a frequent visitor.

This house stands on a knoll along the Burnside Bridge Road and it overlooks the Sherrick Farm House, which also is home to reported spooky apparitions.

The Landon House, used as a field hospital during the fight, is best known in Civil War circles for hosting the Sabers and Roses Ball prior to the Battle of Antietam, a bit of civilized activity before the inhumanity began. It's known for ghostly barking from its cellar and the sighting of a Union ghost in the nearby woods.

But it was spooked out before the battle. Prior to the Civil War, the Landon House was the Shirley Academy for Women. A ghostly woman in white is rumored to occasionally look in on second-floor rooms. Local lore states that she’s looking for children to tuck in at night.

We'll close with a tale of a ghoul of the human variety who got his come-uppance from the other side. When the battle was raging, the Confederate Army didn't have time to bury their dead; they hired locals to see to the last detail.

One innkeeper, passed down in legend as a Mr. Wise, took the job to provide a proper burial for fifty soldiers. But instead of burying them, Wise dropped the dead soldiers into an abandoned well, some landing head down or upside down, hardly a fitting farewell for guys who had just made the ultimate sacrifice.

Wise received a shock when one of the dead appeared to him, said to be the shadow of Sergeant Jim Tabbs of Virginia. Tabbs told off Wise about the disrespect of the corpses, and a scared half-to-death Wise repositioned the bodies in the well. He was quickly found out by the authorities, and under their steely stare, buried all fifty in the ground.

The grounds have been operated by the National Park Service since 1890, and the park proper consists of the battlefield, a visitors’ center, a national military cemetery and the Pry House Field Hospital Museum.

And many of its combatants.

Poe: Gone In Body, But Not In Spirit...

2010-01-30T12:24:00.006-05:00

Edgar Allen Poe image from Wikipedia
-- Baltimore Streets: There have been sightings reported of a ghost of a man dressed in black that wanders the streets of the old section of Baltimore, thought to be Poe, still haunting the byways he roamed when he was alive.

-- Fort Monroe: Poe enlisted in the Army in 1827, under the name Edgar A. Perry, and was stationed at Fort Monroe in Hampton, Virginia as an artilleryman. He ended his tour by finding a replacement to serve out the remaining time. Poe did receive an appointment to West Point; he was drummed out.

People claim to have seen his ghost writing away at a desk; he penned some minor poetry collections while on base.

-- Poe’s Grave: He's buried at the Old Western Burial Ground. Westminster Hall was built over the part of the cemetery, so some of the boneyard is now a catacomb

People have claimed to have seen Poe’s ghost by his grave and in the catacombs. There are cold spots, sounds of footsteps, disembodied whisperings and some visitors have felt the touch of unseen hands in the catacombs.

The biggest mystery is the Man In Black who left a tribute of cognac and roses for Poe on the evening of January 19th, the author's birthday. The ritual, which began in 1949 and been repeated without fail ever since, came to a halt this year. That may be a greater puzzle than the ghost.

-- The Old Stone House Edgar Allen Poe Museum: Located in Richmond, Virginia, the Poe showcase is spread over several buildings, each featuring displays from various stages of his life.

The most famous spook in the museum is "The Shadow," a dark and indistinguishable figure, which has been captured on photographs. Many people speculate that the manifestation is Poe, returning to a place that is familiar to him.

-- Washington College Hospital: The Baltimore hospital where he died in 1849, it's been said that Poe's ghost has been seen roaming its hallways.

-- Eutaw House: There are a myriad of eerie tales concerning the old Centre County, Pennsylvania, Inn. One is that Poe stopped by, fell in love with a local girl, and was spurned. A spook that physically resembles him has been spotted there, although the local lore seems to associate the apparition with a ghost family haunting its halls. Still, it is right by Poe Valley, and a desk has the initials EAP carved in it, so hey...

-- Edgar Allen Poe House and Museum: The house where Poe lived with his grandmother, Maria Poe, and cousin, Virginia Clemm (who he eventually married), is on North Amity Street in Baltimore.

People have reported mysterious cold spots, eerie lights flitting from floor to floor, doors and windows that open and shut by themselves, heard spectral voices, felt unseen hands touch them, and have seen the specter of a heavyset, gray haired woman dressed in nineteenth century clothing, thought to be grandma. Oddly, there have been no alleged sightings of Poe there.

Leigh Master - The Ghost Of Furnace Hill

2010-01-22T19:00:00.024-05:00

Sam's view of the inside of an old iron furnace
(image from Rabbityama of Virtual Tourist)
Leigh Master was born in Stockport in Lancashire, England in 1717. After his wife, Katherine Hoskins, died, he left Albion and set up shop near Westminster, in Maryland's Carroll County in 1765. Master had told his buds that he was coming "to the new country to make his fortune," and boy, was he right.

He put together an iron business at Furnace Hill, and soon became a big-shot mine operator, foundry master, and property owner, with 6,000 acres of land holdings, running the eighteenth century equivalent of an integrated steel mill. At first, he had the locals do the backbreaking work, but quickly switched over to cheaper slave labor.

Master worked his slaves hard and was swift to punish those he considered slackers, delivering beatings to them in the basement of his mansion. Some of the unfortunates didn't survive his not-so-tender ministrations, and their bodies were said to be buried in the cellar.

He became a rich dude - his furnaces produced quite high quality iron - but to the locals, Master was not a man they respected, but feared. He was also a bit eccentric (some say bonkers); it was claimed that he would ride in the woods around Furnace Hill at night wrapped in a white sheet and yelling gibberish, scaring the bejabbers out of the poor souls who ran across him during his evening jaunts.

In 1786, he ran for the Maryland legislature. But it's hard to convince people who are afraid of you to cast their vote in your favor; he was thumped and never ran for office again. The fact that he was a suspected Loyalist during the Revolution didn't earn him many points, either. Master was tried for high treason in 1781, but apparently beat the rap.

He died at the age of 80 in 1796. And then the spook stories began, spread through the region by generations of word-of-mouth folk tales.

Legend has it that he fell for his Black servant girl, but another slave, Sam, owned her heart. The lore continues that the outraged Master had Sam killed and thrown into the fiery iron furnace to cover the dastardly deed (other versions say he had Sam bound and tossed into the flames alive), and then bricked up the woman in a fireplace while she was still alive. His Green-Eyed Monster was a particularly horrific beast.

During 1930 renovations of his old home, called Avondale, a downstairs furnace was opened and a skeleton was discovered. Some unverified reports even say that a baby's bones were found, supposedly of Master's child, which would put another truly ugly twist on the tale. While it didn't absolutely prove the crime, try telling that to the locals.

There are stories of the house being haunted by both Master and the slaves he dispatched in the basement. The manse became an inn, the Avonlea Bed and Breakfast, but the spirits apparently remained. One of our readers wrote in to say that the legends are more than just old tales:

"I have personally witnessed haunting in the home, as well as heard the chilling accounts of haunting by the family. The daughter (of the B&B owners) would see Leigh Master before she would go to bed, her mother saw a young girl playing upstairs, and everyone who lived or stayed there has witnessed unexplainable noises. Lights would go off in the main house in rooms in which no electricity is ran. All the tools that were hung on the walls of the barn would be removed and laying all over the grounds. Another fun fact for Master's home, is that later, well after his death, a train derailed and the car went into a pond on the property. The people that were in the RR car were trapped and died. So Avonlea is haunted not only by Leigh Master himself, but his murdered slaves and possibly by those that drowned in the RR accident."

And the manse isn't the spookiest spot. Master is better known for haunting the woodlands around Furnace Hill. The are tales of his spirit walking through the arbor towards his old mansion, but the best stories concern Master a'gallop through the trees.

Shortly after his death, neighbors reported seeing Master riding on a fire-snorting gray steed, seeking penance and crying for mercy while accompanied by the sound of rattling chains.

Sometimes, he was spotted on his stallion alone, and at other times pursued by three glowing imp-like figures carrying lanterns. Either way, the woods quickly gained a ghostly reputation and by nightfall became empty of people (living ones, anyway), who had no intention of meeting up with "The Ghost of Furnace Hill."

Hey, even his final rest was eerie. When Master died, he was buried on his property. It was said that Mother Earth herself didn't want him, and his body rose to the surface three times over the intervening decades.

His remains were transferred to consecrated ground at the Church of the Ascension Burial Grounds in 1876, and placed in a stone box under a tree. But he still doesn't rest easily; the top slab cracked, as if the earth was still trying to reject him, and legend has it that when it was replaced, it cracked again.

After his death, Master's heirs sold the property; his home and the ruins of his furnace are all that remain...oh, and a spook or two, just to remind us of the bad ol' days of yore.

Woods House

2010-01-16T00:57:00.002-05:00

Andrew Woods House
The Woods house at 271 Baltimore Street in Gettysburg was built in the early-to-late 1830s, and was the home and workshop of carriage builder/repairman Andrew Woods.

In 1997, Mark Nesbitt's Ghosts of Gettysburg Tour gang bought it to use as its HQ. So it must have some spooks, right?

Yep, it does, though oddly there are no overt Civil War manifestations, other than a voice or two in the attic and some residual energy in the cellar. It's thought that it served, as did most of the town's buildings, as a field hospital and snipers nest. There are the customary orbs, shapeless blobs, and doors that open or shut for no good reason.

Namesake Andrew Woods is still around, and is said to have helped workmen who were renovating the building by opening doors for them when their hands were full. (Must be part of the union contract.)

Psychic Karyol Kirkpatrick found some other former residents' spirits in the house, too. Research seems to point to James Dobbins as one of the spooks. The son of a preacher, he still talks a good religious game from the afterlife and likes to slam doors.

Another pair are thought to be Mary Kitzmiller and her son William, who died at an early age in the house. It's said that Mary calls out for her surviving son, Charles, and that young William can be heard shooting marbles upstairs.

There's a woman spook in dark clothing who seems loco, but was actually as crazy as a fox. She had a mission as a secret courier, and acted loony so that no one paid her any mind, allowing her to pull off her double-agent act.

The wraiths of two little girls, Emily and her friend, play tag in the attic, and you can hear their voices. There's enough going on that the staff has taken to calling it the "Ghost House." The Ghost gang has closed off the upper floors, but claim there's enough active spookiness on the ground level to keep the customers happy.

Mark Nesbitt gave away the building's secrets in his book Ghosts of Gettysburg IV, and the Woods house is a stop on a couple of the local Gettysburg ghost tours.

The R&R Station

2010-01-09T11:30:00.004-05:00

The R&R Station
Westmoreland County's The R&R Station is a popular restaurant, bar, and B&B located on West Main Street in downtown Mt. Pleasant. It was built in 1883, when the town was a layover for passengers of the B&O and Pennsy RR lines. It still is the preferred residence for some permanent guests - at last count, it hosted 15 different ghosts.

The first floor boasts of the spirits of a little boy, a little girl, and a milkman. The second floor lays claim to a Victorian lady, two former owners, one of whom is supposed to be John Polonosky, who owned the building a century ago when it was the East End Hotel, the Groper, and the Top Hat Man (Robert) and Sarah.

On the third floor, we have the Mob Boss, the Snitch, the Insane Daughter, and two children playing in the hallway. It's also where infamous Room 15 is, the alleged portal that various spirits use to travel between planes. In addition, there have been sightings reported from the lower level of the R&R, where the bar is located.

The ghostly group collectively has kicked, pinched, and torn the sheets from unsuspecting customers. People in the building have heard bouncing balls upstairs, footsteps when the building was empty, seen objects disappear just to reappear later, and flying pots and pans.

The owners thought they were losing their minds amidst all this eerie activity, and contacted the Paranormal Researchers Organization, which assured them their sanity was fine. PRO captured orb photographs and recorded voices, and said they couldn't explain the things going on at the R & R rationally.

The Pittsburgh Paranormal Society took a look, too. They snapped some photos that they claim are of Polonsky.

Now that they know that their establishment is haunted, the relieved owners have sent tapes to movie producers resulting in a docudrama/DVD "The Haunted R&R Station," sponsored nights with psychics and PRO, gotten reams of newspaper coverage, and offer dinner followed by a ghost tour. In fact, their web site contains a lengthy list of links to its spooked-out history.

Who said a six pack or three of spooks is bad for business?

The Philadelphia Experiment

2010-01-02T09:15:00.008-05:00

Hey, we thought we'd start the New Year off by dusting off an old chestnut, the Philadelphia Experiment.

We've all seen the movie. The tale was based on alleged happenings in 1943, when the Navy did some electronic and Einsteinian unified force field tinkering with the USS Eldridge and ended up teleporting it (or sailing invisibly) to Norfolk and frying the crew upon arrival.

The vessel, as the plot-line goes, had all kinds of interesting and history-altering stops during its famous lost day of time-traveling. So what really happened?

Well, first the USS Eldridge wasn't involved; it was in the Carribean at the time on its shake-down cruise, according to log entries. But an experiment called Operation Rainbow was tried on the USS Engstrom, which was in dock then.

The Royal Navy came up with a degaussing system, like you use on your PC, that made ships undetectable to magnetic torpedoes and mines. The Americans were trying to achieve the same effect, and that was the grand experiment underway.

And the technique does work against magnetically controlled devices, based on readily available science, not Star Trek technology. It's still used today, though it doesn't deflect light or sound. The procedure doesn't affect the crew at all, and it definitely doesn't make the ship invisible or send it from Point A to Point B in the flash of an eye, as much as the Pentagon wished it would.

So how did they show up in Norfolk so soon, with that eerie lost day? Easy - they sailed the Chesapeake and Delaware Canal. It took less than a day to cover the 200 miles or so of water. The route was hush-hush then to prevent the Germans from targeting it, and it was only open to naval vessels during the war.

Interestingly, three great science fiction authors - Isaac Azimov, Robert Heinlein, & L. Sprague deCamp - were supposed to be working at the shipyard at the time of the Philadelphia Experiment. It sure sounds like one of their tales.

At any rate, this is one story that seems to have nothing to do with multiverses and the gray zone between science and spookiness. Physics is stranger than fiction.

(Wikipedia has a comprehensive account of the whole Philadelphia Experiment affair. But hey, here's the alternate history as provided by the 1984 movie.)

2009-12-31T23:17:00.001-05:00

The Ghosts of Christmas

2009-12-24T22:00:00.003-05:00

Charles Dickens from Wikipedia daguerreotype by Jeremiah Gurney
Hey, there's one undisputed master of the Christmas ghost story, Charles Dickens. Not only has he written the ultimate Yuletide tale A Christmas Carol with four co-starring specters, but he penned a series of Christmas novellas and also written many books based on the holiday theme.

Charles Dickens' fascination with ghosts and the macabre goes back to his childhood, to the ghoulish stories told him by his nanny, Mary Weller, whom he referred to as Mercy, "though she had none on me." And in justice, Weller didn't think Dickens was exactly an ideal charge, either. Maybe that's why she tried to scare the bejabbers out of him.

Not only did Mary's spooked out bed-time stories stick to young Charles, played back to him ad nauseum in his dreams, but reality added its lumps of coal, too. His dad was tossed into debtors prison when he was twelve, forcing him into the English factory system to earn his daily bread.

That was a sure nightmare maker, especially for a boy of the gentry who had none of the thick skin and street smarts of his brother urchins. He was humiliated by his circumstances, but drawn into the previously unknown world it introduced to him. The experience left him a champion of the underclass after he returned to the genteel life.

There were other influences on his sudden epiphany on the horrors of the Industrial Revolution on families, particularly kids, and the supernatural.

He toured the Cornish tin mines and Field Lane Ragged School for street orphans, visited the Western Penitentiary in Pittsburgh, had a decade-long fascination on both sides of the Atlantic with spiritualism; and was a fan of satirist and social commentator Douglas Jerrold, whose Punch magazine article How Mr. Chokepear Keeps a Merry Christmas featured a prototype Scrooge.

In 1843, Dickens published A Christmas Carol, partly as a social tract but mainly to relieve a money crunch. He wrote it in six weeks, hastened along by the memory of his father's time in gael - they should use the same concept for Wall Street - and a holiday deadline. It was a hit, critically and financially.

It was only the first of many holiday pieces; Dickens was nearly obsessed with the Christmas metaphor. He churned out other Christmas tales where the world weary were shown the light by spirit guides: The Chimes, The Cricket on the Hearth, The Christmas Goblins, and The Haunted Man and the Ghost’s Bargain, all borrowing various elements from A Christmas Carol.

All in all, he wrote at least sixteen stories centered around Christmas, though most passed on spooks and eventually ended their twisted trail with tidings of joy. Of course, some were written because the reading public expected a story from Dickens during the holidays because of A Christmas Carol. Others, well, because, in Dickens' words:

"I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round, as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable time; the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys."

While most of Dickens' novels were along the lines of "Great Expectations," "Oliver Twist," and all his other caste-based classics, he was also quite a prolific contributor to the Brit magazine scene that thrived in his era. And he could write a ghost story as well as any of the popular tale-spinners of the day.

The Complete Ghost Stories of Charles Dickens, collected by Peter Haining, contains all twenty of Dickens' spook sagas. And his tales of redemption brought on with the help of the netherworld still live on in movies and on the Broadway stage.

Dickens may not have left any personal ghosts to haunt the living, but he sure did his part to make sure that spooks became a mainstay of our holiday season by providing us with his own version of the herald angels.

It's a good season to be reminded that, as he believed, "We forge the chains we wear in life."

2009-12-24T21:54:00.000-05:00

HAVE A SAFE AND MERRY CHRISTMAS AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR

Maple Grove Inn

2009-12-19T10:20:00.003-05:00

Inn at Maple Grove from the Morning Call
John Keifer built the Maple Grove Inn in Alburtis, Lehigh County, as a hotel in 1783, and it later became a stagecoach stop. Now it's a State Street restaurant called The Inn at Maple Grove, serving classic American fare...and a bit more.

It features the stories of two spooks on its' menu. The first is an Indian nicknamed Charlie who was hung in the Commons Room, now the dining area, in front of the fireplace for impregnating a white woman. It's said lighting the fireplace usually is enough to get a rise out of Charlie.

His supposed victim, it turned out, was a willing participant to the match, unbeknowst to the vigilantes and the kangaroo court jurists, and the Indian vowed to haunt the Inn to protest of the injustice of it all.

His footsteps can be heard, he shakes the fireplace tools, makes the chandeliers swing, plays with the lights & door locks, makes rapping sounds, whistles, and generally makes a nuisance of himself. He's sometimes seen as a mist or dove. His body is buried either under the fireplace's hearthstone or in the basement, depending on which version of the story is being told.

The other spook has been seen upstairs. He's the spirit of a man that was allegedly murdered in a closet on the second floor, and is most commonly associated with footsteps heard when no one's around.

Their tales are told in Ghost Stories of the Lehigh Valley by Charles Adams III and David Seibold and Haunted Places by Dennis William Hauck.

Landon House

2009-12-12T14:00:00.017-05:00

Landon House from Architectural Concepts
The Landon House was built along the Rappahannock River in Virginia as a silk mill in 1754. It was relocated (by barge!) to Urbana, Maryland in 1840 where it became The Shirley Female Academy and then the Landon Military Academy & Institute.

During the first Maryland campaign of the Civil War, it was the headquarters of General James Ewell Brown "Jeb" Stuart. Virginia gentleman that he was, Stuart hosted several social events at Landon, including the renowned Sabers and Roses Ball, a soiree for the rebel troops.

The ball was held on September 8, 1862. Twenty-four hours later, the Battle of Antietam, the bloodiest day of combat in American history, erupted.

The house was a hospital for both Union and Confederate troops during the battle and still has the original signed and dated Civil War “lightning sketches” on its walls, drawn by Yankee and Rebel soldiers.

Portraits of Abraham Lincoln and Jefferson Davis, along with General Robert E. Lee, remain. Landon House, located on the Urbana Pike, is on the National Register of Historic Places and is a stop on Maryland’s Civil War Trails program.

Since the hospital days, employees and visitors have witnessed many eerie events in the Landon House and on its property.

The house is reportedly haunted by the civil war soldiers who died in the building, seen by many Landon guests. Orbs are also common phenomena. Ghostly lights have been seen moving through the house late at night.

These soldiers are thought to be residual hauntings, energy that is left behind after an especially emotional or traumatic experience. Death would certainly qualify as one such experience.

Folks who have taken pictures sometimes find Civil War soldiers in the developed prints. One pair of reenactors allegedly have a snapshot of a ghostly apparition looking out of the windows, keeping an eye on them as they toured the house.

Construction workers told of a Union soldier who walked out the nearby woods, waved to them, and disappeared. There were no reenactors or anyone in costume on the site that day.

One reb soldier that has reportedly never left is Colonel Luke Tiernan Brien, an aide to Stuart, who has been seen sitting in a rocking chair on the front porch, looking out over his property (he was a later owner of the Landon House). He died in 1912. More often, the chair is reported rocking by itself.

An old spirit is sometimes reported to roam the house halls; many assume it's Brien, still padding around his old digs.

One spooked-out part of the house is the basement area. It is believed to be home to the slaves who were once held there. If you visit this spot, it's said that you may encounter an icy cold sensation, the sense of being watched, and maybe a tap from an unseen entity.

The basement is also home to one of Landon's prized legends, the ghostly hounds. The cellar wall has unexplained scratch marks from claws on the wall, and the most common paranormal report from Landon is the howling of dogs, heard from the deepest level of the house.

They're supposed to be the remnants of an ethereal pack of dogs that were kept in the basement over the years by a variety of owners, used for hunting, as an early home-security system, and to keep the slaves from escaping.

Another famous pooch spook haunts Landon. The dog was accompanying its owner during the battle of Antietam, was wounded, and brought to Landon House, where it died. It's never left.

One photographer captured a ghostly woman and her dog in one picture; pooches apparently were a big part of Landon's early history.

And there are the more mundane reports, such as Civil War music playing, and rolling cannon balls. But not all the ghosties are from the Civil War. A couple of apparitions are from the Shirley Female Academy days.

There is a legend about a woman whose baby died at birth. The woman lost it; she sat in a rocker and rocked the dead baby for three days before admitting it was gone. Her spook has allegedly been seen on the balcony entrance of her room at night.

A ghostly woman in white is rumored to roam the second-floor rooms. And she's on a mission - it's said that she's doing a bedtime check, looking for children to tuck into bed. A kid or two have even reported her visit to their parents. There's nothing like the ministrations of a netherworld nanny to speed you off to dreamland.

The Landon House, now a wedding and events center, embraces its spookiness. "We are happy to include an historic tour or 'ghost walk' of Landon House with your special event at no extra charge" boasts its website.

A Landon House Ghost Walk is hosted every Friday evening from April through September. It even rents out to paranormal groups that want to spend an evening tracking down Landon House legends.

So if you're planning to take the plunge or celebrate a big event and don't mind a couple of twilight zone gatecrashers, the Landon House is your haunt.

Southern Mansion

2009-12-04T23:40:00.011-05:00

The Southern Mansion from Eras of Elegance
A wealthy industrialist, George Allen, built the Southern Mansion as a summer home for his family in 1863. Cape May was a getaway for the rich and famous, and the Italianate-designed Mansion was one of its featured homes (it's now part of Cape May's historic district).

The Allen's house sat on a acre and a half estate, lined with trees and dotted by Italian gardens, with mahogany woodwork, intricately carved crown moldings, fifteen feet ceilings, giant gilded mirrors, grand ballrooms, and 5,000 square feet of verandas surrounding it. Allen and his family summered there for 83 years.

George's niece, Ester Mercur, and her husband were the last of Allen family to call the mansion home. Ester loved the estate, and when she died, her husband, Ulysses, couldn't bear to remain there without her, and sold the whole shebang for $8,000. He was in an emotional rush to get out, and didn't vet the next caretakers very well.

The new owners turned the place into a boarding house. They painted the beige structure white, and converted the mansion into a rat's nest of small rooms to let. It gradually evolved into a poorly kept flophouse, and after 50 years, the hotel license was yanked because of the deplorable condition of the once-proud building.

In early 1994, the mansion was bought by its current owners, who turned it into a boutique hotel and event center. In just 18 months, after carting out 25 dumpsters of accumulated junk, the mansion was fully restored and renovated back to the spittin' image of its glory days.

The original owners must have liked the restoration. Some of them came back to enjoy their old home as yappy specters, while another had a complete attitude make-over.

First, voices and hushed conversations have been heard and reported from all corners of the Southern Mansion. It's thought that ghosts of the mansion's summer home era have returned, enjoying the building as in days of yore. Paranormal investigators have captured the spectral talk on EVP.

There's also one spooked out, but unidentified, room that weighs heavily on its mortal visitors. Folks claim that they get the feeling of anxiety and tension when they enter the space. There's never been a report of an apparition present, just a universal sense of angst.

It's believed that a highly emotional death occurred in the room, like a suicide, murder, or illness/accident.

But hey, the ghost of Southern Mansion isn't about the bad times. The star spook is Ester, and she's one happy lady now. It wasn't always that way; back in the boarding house days, she was often reported roaming the Mansion as a sad visitation, no doubt bummed to see how far her beloved home had tumbled downhill.

But now that the house has been restored to its heyday look, Ester is a joyful spirit, apparently delighted that the mansion is once again like home. And she's been seen all over the place, in different guises.

In the kitchen, staff members claim that a female apparition watches over them while they prepare the meals, cook, and clean. In fact, the elderly woman seems very much at home there, even trying to help out. That's Ester, tending to her homefires.

Visitors entering the Mansion reportedly hear a lady's laughter echoing off the walls with music playing, and see a beautiful woman dancing up a storm in various rooms. That's said to be Ester, too.

Ester's also been spotted as the image of a decked-out hostess, wearing a gown and wafting a trail of lilac perfume as she floats through the halls, with the sound of her swishing petticoat clearly audible.

So hey, scared of spooks? You'll get over that with one visit to the Southern Mansion. Ester is the happiest ghost this side of Casper.