To celebrate the premiere of the new Daniel Radcliffe movie The Woman In Black, we asked you to send in your best ghost stories… now we’ve picked our favorite ghost stories sent in by our listeners, and we want to share them with all of you! So grab a flashlight and a blanket (is there any better way to ready a ghost story?), and read on for some of the spookiest ghost stories ever!
A boy was digging at the edge of the garden when he saw a big toe. He tried to pick it up, but it was stuck to something. So he gave it a good hard jerk, and it came off in his hand. Then he heard something groan and scamper away.
The boy took the toe into the kitchen and showed it to his mother. “It looks nice and plump,” she said. “I’ll put it in the soup, and we’ll have it for supper.”
That night his father carved the toe as if it were a turkey, into three pieces. Then they did the dishes, and when it got dark they all went to bed.
In the middle of the night a sound awakened the boy. It was something out in the street. A voice, calling to him.
“Where is my toe?” it groaned.
When the boy heard this, he got very scared, but thought “It doesn’t know where I am, I’ll be safe.”
Then it came again, but closer this time.
“Where is my toe?” it groaned.
The boy covered his head with the blankets and closed his eyes. “I just go to sleep,” he thought “And when I wake it will be gone.”
But then he heard the back door of the house open, and the voice came once again.
“Where is my toe?” it groaned.
His bedroom door opened. The boy was shaking with fear as he listened to the footsteps slowly move toward his bed. Then they stopped.
“Where is my toe?” The voice groaned.
(jump at a person close to you and shout:) “YOU’VE GOT IT!!”
Just the other day, I was doing things around the house like normal. I called a friend and as I was walking by the Christmas tree(yes, I know it’s a bit late to still have it up), it all of a sudden toppled. I hadn’t brushed against it and it was fine for the few weeks it was up. I startled my friend on the phone with my scream, but I dismissed it and placed my phone on the table a few feet behind me and started to clean up the broken ornaments. As I was cleaning, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something move over my shoulder and plop on the floor beside me. I looked to the side and I was surprised to see it was the phone I put on the table behind me. No one else was home, and I was sure that I had put it there. Later, I realized the occurrence happened on the two year anniversary of my grandfather’s death. Ever since this happened, I’ve heard strange sounds while I’m home alone and I have the feeling of being watched. But, I’ll hope it is, in fact, my grandfather and he was just trying to get my attention.
When I was young I always saw a black shadow wearing a black cape in the kitchen area, mostly at night. When I use to tell my parents, they never believed or listened to me. Growing up, I still saw the same caped black shadow, always in the same spot. One day my mom was washing dishes and I saw it again. I told my mom and she didn’t believe me, so I went to my room. A couple minutes later, my mom said why I had touched her back. I never did! I asked her what she felt and she said she felt someone behind her and all of a sudden she felt someone touch her back and leave. She thought it was me. When I told her it wasn’t, she freaked out and finally believed what I always told her since young… That year I moved out and never saw it again. But my mom always heard and felt weird things, until my parents sold the house.
Once upon a time 18 years ago when I was 9 years old my mom had moved into this apartment in Hartford, CT right near Hartford Hospital. It was a building with 3 floors. We moved into the 3rd floor which looked like an attic. The windows were right where our knees are. It was a beautiful 3 bedroom… Since the move there I had nothing but none stop nightmares. I use to see things as I was told but wouldn’t remember in the morning. I shared bedroom with my younger sister who hated when I use to say I see things all the time.. Every night I always felt like someone was watching me & could never sleep because I was scared. One night I felt that feeling like someone was watching me, when I opened my eyes I saw a white male right near my closet sitting on my bike. I thought it was a dream but as much as I closed my eyes and reopen them he was still there.
At that time I was so freaked out that I started saying to my sister to wake up and pounding on the top bunk. She then woke up and asked me what’s wrong and I’m telling her don’t you see him. She’s like NO stop it I don’t see anything your scathing me. I was like he’s right there just looking. I then ran to turn the lights on and he just disappeared… I was so freak out as a 9 yr old child. This wasn’t the only experience I’ve had. I had several. One other night I heard all these noises coming from the kitchen I woke up walked to the kitchen and see that the hallway of our apartment was lid up like if the lights were on. I go check it out to turn them off i then noticed they weren’t on but there was a bright light that lid up the hall. At the time I saw a black shadow that looked like the “Grand Reaper” race across the hallway towards the front door. I screamed so loud and ran to my moms bedroom which was right next to the front door and told her what I had saw. She tried to console me and tell me it was a dream but that was no dream. I know what I saw and what I’ve been seeing since we moved in.
After that incident I kept on having nightmares so then my mom then decided to move some place else. My mom had spoken to her friends about what I’ve been going through & that’s when my moms friend had told her that once upon a time that building was a graveyard. My mom didn’t believe that but stilled moved. After we moved to a new place I stopped having nightmares and never say anything again… Yes I was a scared 9 year old to see what I saw.. Till this day no one believes me. But like I said I know what I saw and that’s all that counts…
When I was young we used to live in a haunted house. We had one room that used to be called the toy room. One warm summer day I was sent up to the toy room to gather up the items needed for our daily game of stickball.
Upon gathering up the items and getting ready to return to the yard I forgot to shut the door. A rule that my father insisted upon. As I headed back to shut the door it SLAMMED shut all by itself. There was no wind that particular day and I’m not sure why the door slammed shut. And honestly I DON’T CARE.
I never returned to that room alone again.
Mine isn’t so much a ghost story as events that actually happened. I grew up in West Hartford, Connecticut. When I was 12 years old, my father suffered a brain aneurysm at home; by the time he reached the hospital, his only sign of life was his heartbeat. He died two days later on Halloween, during the height of trick or treat. I was at a neighbor’s house across the street from ours, because family had come in from out of state and there was no room left; when the doorbell rang, I turned to my friend and told her that my father had died and someone had come to tell me. My friend said it was probably just more trick-or-treaters, but then her mother called up the stairs, and it was one of my sisters, who’d come to tell me the news.
A number of times over the years after that (we continued to live in the same house for 15 more years), when I was at home alone, I would hear a voice talking in a low murmur. I could never make out anything that was being said, it was like someone was on the telephone in another part of the house. I would always check radios and TVs and they were never on. It didn’t bother me, it didn’t even seem scary – but none of my siblings ever believed me. And none of them ever heard anything. But then, I was the only one in the family who wouldn’t be freaked out at the thought of a ghost in the house. And in a way, I thought maybe it was my father – by the time he left the house in the ambulance on the night of his attack, his spirit or essence would have left his body – there was no brain function except that which kept his heart beating for two more days.
We lived in the house for over 25 years; the people who’d owned it before us had lived there for several decades. But after we moved out, the house kept going up for sale almost every year. After it was posted for sale for the 4th time in as many years, one of my sisters happened to run into the realtor handling the house. She asked her if there was some reason it kept going up for sale. The realtor didn’t seem to want to tell her anything at first, but after she explained that she was born and grew up in the house, the realtor told her that the present owners were selling it because they claimed they kept hearing a voice that told them to “get out!”
Always sounded to me like something my father would do!!!
We moved into a home 16 years ago – it is a 100 year old home. The first 3 months, pieces of my jewelry were constantly missing. 1 ear ring here and there, a necklace, bracelets, my favorite watch. Anyhow, 1 day my husband lifted the couch to vacuum, and all my jewelry was in a neat little pile! I went down to City Hall to find out the history of our home – a man died here who loved his wife very much – I think his ghost was collecting my jewelry for her! I actually asked him to stop…..and he did. He appeared once on my steps! We talked, and I have never seen him again!
My grandmother lived in a large house in Camden, South Carolina. This was back in the 40’s, and onward. None of her servants would stay on the estate at night. There were three cottages in the back. All the “help” said that the house/estate was haunted and indeed it was. My Uncle used to have a large New Year’s Eve costume party in the house. His wife followed a man (dressed in costume of the 1800’s) up the stairs to the second floor landing and when he went into the guest bathroom, she sat down at the top of the stairs to wait her turn. She seemed to wait there an inordinate amount of time.
Finally she got up and knocked politely on the door. No answer. She knocked again and asked if the person were all right. No answer. Finally a bit alarmed she turned the doorknob and looked inside. NOTHING!!! This ghost and others were seen many times throughout the years by the Buckley family (of the William F. Buckley family). When my grandmother was alone in the house in the evenings (after the servants had gone home) she would go upstairs slowly to the second floor where her rooms were. Most evenings there would be footsteps heard following her. They would stop when she would stop. When she would turn off the lights to the downstairs from just outside her room, they would come back on when she began to close her door. This happened a lot! My grandmother was never afraid. She always said that the ghost was a nice ghost and was just bored and wanted to have some fun. Another time my grandfather and grandmother were residing in the small parlor/den after dinner.
My grandfather got up and went across the hall into the darkened dining room. There was an older black woman (in a servants uniform) putting some dishes away in the corner cabinet. My grandfather returned to my grandmother and asked when she had hired the new servant because he had never seen her before. My grandmother assured my grandfather that NO new help had been hired in quite some time. My grandfather went back into the dining room and there was no one there, or in the kitchen, or in the pantry. It was a ghost! Wonderful stories and I believe each and every one of them. The South is filled with ghosts, especially the old houses built around the time of the Civil War.
About 5 years ago, I was pulling out of my parents driveway (I still lived with them at the time) and my father yelled from the front door “Robyn, don’t try using the computer. It just doesn’t turn on for some reason. It’s totally dead.” I found this weird that he took the time to yell that to me since I was on my way out and obviously wasn’t going to use it that day.
A few days later, my parents discovered my Uncle (my father’s brother) had passed away. We were all extremely close to him and it was a horrific experience. The day my father came home from my Uncle’s house after making this discovery, he and my mother walked into the den and the computer started making noises that sounded like robotic words that they couldn’t quite make out. It was as if someone was talking out of the computer! The same one that was completely fried from a few days earlier!
After my Uncle’s funeral, my family came back to our house and the phone rang. Now, they have one of those phones that you could use one phone in the house to call another phone in the house. We looked at the caller id and it said that my sister’s phone upstairs was calling us. So I picked up and asked her what she wanted. There was just silence. After a minute, I went up to my sister’s room to see why she had called us. She was completely asleep!! I woke her up, freaked out, to ask her why she called. She said she never called us. She was asleep the whole time!
(This is a true story) The night was young, and a few friends decided to make something of an average September day. The four of them went to high school together, and have been close ever since they all met in class junior year. Seniors now, school had ended about four hours ago and they had nothing to do but study for a test before the weekend came around. If only they knew what was to happen later that day. Samantha, feeling obligated to take charge because of her cheerleading caption role, called her friends and asked them all to hang out. She lived on the same street as Jessica, a short witty blonde, so she asked her to pick her up and then get the guys. Jessie and Sam headed across town and tried to plan what they wanted to do. They went to get Dave first; Dave was a loud character with a childish personality. They came to the conclusion as soon as they arrived at Dave’s house; they were going to Gunntown. Gunntown was the town’s most famous cemetery, and only people brave enough to step foot in it would understand why. Ghosts were seen, small children were heard playing behind the cemetery’s back wall, old toys were left scattered around, and if you stayed past your welcome, a woman in white would hang from a tree and yell until your hair stood on ends. Andy was picked up, a tall lanky blonde, and they discussed what they had planned, picked up a camera, video camera, and some flashlights, and headed to the cemetery.
Finally arriving on the street, they can hear the birds and distant noises turn to silence. They park the car on the opposite side of the road, and step out of the car; they can hear only their breath and the wind. Andy speaks up and suggests they spilt up and search the area, so that is exactly what they do. It’s getting dark, the sun is almost completely gone, and it’s getting colder. Jessica starts to hear a soft giggle behind a grave, so she screams and calls out her friend’s name, “Samantha?!” She and the guys run to Jessica to find out what had happened. Samantha pulls out the video camera and starts to record. She keeps yelling, “There! Behind the grave! I think I heard something. I want to go home.” All four of them stare blankly at that single grave, yet nothing happens but a chilling feeling beneath their skin. They think nothing of it and begin to walk closer to the grave, but suddenly they hear a horrifying scream come from what seemed like the sky. Dave has had enough and runs for the car, “Guys, we need to get out of here! Now!” They all run towards the car and head to Andy’s house. They’re flustered and terrified, but still amazed from their experience. As Jessica drives, Dave and Samantha look through the cameras for pictures and videos that could help explain what they had heard. Dave sees orbs, but nothing to out of the ordinary. And for some reason, Samantha can’t get the camera to work, “It says there’s no video? How can that be? There was footage on here from last week?” Andy turned on the radio, no reception either. No one could explain what was going on; they just wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible.
Arriving at Andy’s, they decided to try the video camera on more time, but using the television. There is video on the camera, and it begins with a school project filmed not to long ago. They knew there was film, but they were still shocked to see it. The sound of static filled the room, and the image quickly shifted from a classroom to a dark gravestone. You can hear their voices; they watched the screen closely in anticipation. Then it happened, what they thought, but had not actually seen in person. They all witness a black shadowy figure walk from that one gravestone to another. They sat there speechless. Then before they could process what they had just seen, they hear that same scream, but much quieter. They look at each other, and then the video goes blank. Confused and scared, they decided to all spend the night there.
In the morning, Samantha was the first to wake up. All she thought about was going back to find out exactly what made that scream. She woke the others and tried to convince them to go back, but Dave had a better idea; Dudley Town. Jessica wanted to stay, but Dave, Andy, and Samantha left for Dudley Town after an early dinner. Still bright out, they arrive there and begin to search the grounds. Dave sees and open door and quickly heads toward it, the two follow him. They’re not nervous because of the daylight, so Dave examines the door and notices that it doesn’t have a lock or a handle. He feels content with his idea of exploring now, so he walks into the building. Samantha and Andy are still outside looking for anything unusual on the outside, not paying attention to Dave. It was nice out, no wind whatsoever, yet in the corner of her eye, Samantha catches that door slamming close, “BAM!” A loud bang rings through their ears; the door is jammed! Dave can’t open it and starts to panic, and Andy runs to the door, but find himself lost because their is no handle on the door. Dave felt like it was behind held shut; it was dark inside and he was screaming for help. Suddenly the door releases its hold, and Dave runs out, “I am never. Never coming here again.” The all head toward the car, Dave laid down in the back and didn’t say one word all the way home. Andy dropped them off and went home. They never would have imagined that their weekend would end like this.
Monday morning comes, Dave gets ready for school and hops into his car. Yet it’s not like an average morning, his car has a rotting smell to it. He ignores it and heads to class.
Two days later, Dave gets in his car again and goes to pick up Andy, “Dude, why does your car smell like that?!” Dave noticed it getting stronger, but he figured it was just some food he left in the back. They both go to a car wash, yet the smell doesn’t go away. Another day passes, and Dave tried another car wash; same result. He empties out his car and gets rid of anything and everything, puts a few air fresheners in the car, then drives home. He wakes up in the morning wondering if he’ll have his old car back. And from the amount of pine trees hanging from his rearview mirror, he was positive that this time would be a success. He gets into his car and the pine trees are still there, but oddly, the smell is too. But he noticed something, there was one thing left in the car. There was a rock set on top of the seats in the in the back of the car. The same rock Dave took from Dudley Town on his way out. Frustrated, Dave grabbed the rock and threw it down the road. He slammed the door and headed back inside.
Later that day, he went into his car again hoping for anything other than what he had been used to this past week. Dave was in a sort of awe, the rock was back; it was in the very same spot. Dave called his friends and asked if they knew anything about it, yet they knew nothing. He knew what he had to do. Dave drove back to Dudley Town, the time approaching 10:00pm. Alone, he had a horrible feeling in his gut. He finally got there and chucked the rock as far as he could into the woods. He got out of there quickly and went right home. He laid in bed and fell asleep. Morning comes, he grabs breakfast and heads down his stairs to his driveway. Dave gets into his car and noticed something else; the smell is gone. Dave, Andy, Jessica, and Samantha meet in school. Dave told them all about what happened, followed by a nightmare he had last night. It was about a woman in white. Oddly enough, Samantha, Andy, and Jessica had all had that same exact dream…
She lived deep in the forest in a tiny cottage and sold herbal remedies for a living. Folks living in the town nearby called her Bloody Mary, and said she was a witch. None dared cross the old crone for fear that their cows would go dry, their food-stores rot away before winter, their children take sick of fever, or any number of terrible things that an angry witch could do to her neighbors.
Then the little girls in the village began to disappear, one by one. No one could find out where they had gone. Grief-stricken families searched the woods, the local buildings, and all the houses and barns, but there was no sign of the missing girls. A few brave souls even went to Bloody Mary’s home in the woods to see if the witch had taken the girls, but she denied any knowledge of the disappearances. Still, it was noted that her haggard appearance had changed. She looked younger, more attractive. The neighbors were suspicious, but they could find no proof that the witch had taken their young ones.
Then came the night when the daughter of the miller rose from her bed and walked outside, following an enchanted sound no one else could hear. The miller’s wife had a toothache and was sitting up in the kitchen treating the tooth with an herbal remedy when her daughter left the house. She screamed for her husband and followed the girl out of the door. The miller came running in his nightshirt. Together, they tried to restrain the girl, but she kept breaking away from them and heading out of town.
The desperate cries of the miller and his wife woke the neighbors. They came to assist the frantic couple. Suddenly, a sharp-eyed farmer gave a shout and pointed towards a strange light at the edge of the woods. A few townsmen followed him out into the field and saw Bloody Mary standing beside a large oak tree, holding a magic wand that was pointed towards the miller’s house. She was glowing with an unearthly light as she set her evil spell upon the miller’s daughter.
The townsmen grabbed their guns and their pitchforks and ran toward the witch. When she heard the commotion, Bloody Mary broke off her spell and fled back into the woods. The far-sighted farmer had loaded his gun with silver bullets in case the witch ever came after his daughter. Now he took aim and shot at her. The bullet hit Bloody Mary in the hip and she fell to the ground. The angry townsmen leapt upon her and carried her back into the field, where they built a huge bonfire and burned her at the stake.
As she burned, Bloody Mary screamed a curse at the villagers. If anyone mentioned her name aloud before a mirror, she would send her spirit to revenge herself upon them for her terrible death. When she was dead, the villagers went to the house in the wood and found the unmarked graves of the little girls the evil witch had murdered. She had used their blood to make her young again.
From that day to this, anyone foolish enough to chant Bloody Mary’s name three times before a darkened mirror will summon the vengeful spirit of the witch. It is said that she will tear their bodies to pieces and rip their souls from their mutilated bodies. The souls of these unfortunate ones will burn in torment as Bloody Mary once was burned, and they will be trapped forever in the mirror.
Haunted Motel 8
Back in the late 90’s my Mother and Father both worked for a moving company packing and loading houses that often had them driving to Connecticut and New York. So it wasn’t uncommon for them to have to stay overnight in near by hotels, especially if the job was split into multiple days. One night they decided to spend the night in a Connecticut Motel 8 instead of driving all the way back to Massachusetts being that it was already a little after 8 o’clock at night. They checked in and after grabbing a bite to eat came back to the Motel and started to get ready for bed. As my mother was pulling the comforter and sheets down she noticed a dark stain on the box spring but thinking nothing of it they shut the lights off and went to sleep. At about 3 in the morning my mother awoke from a deep sleep startled when she saw a women dressed in white standing at the foot of the bed. She was frozen with fear but eventually tried to wake my father up. She said the woman looked young probably in her 20’s and she didn’t feel threatened by her presence but noticed on her white night gown that she had a dark red stain. The next morning she was too embarrassed to ask anyone at the Motel if anyone has ever mentioned something similar happening in the Motel or that room but as soon as she got home she went online and found that a women was spending the night with her boyfriend and for some reason unknown when she fell asleep he woke up and shot her multiple times in the bed and fled the Motel room. It comforted her to known she wasn’t crazy and seeing things but unnerved her to know that some poor women had lost her life in the very room and possible bed that she had just spent the night in.
My house is haunted. I moved out last year – my parents and little sis stay there. A man died there. He moves things around. He appears once in awhile. The door sometimes won’t open and let you get out – you have to yell at him and then it rushes open! So, you basically get LOCKED IN the home!The best time was when the Furnace man went running out of our home – he said something pushed him down the basement stairs! The look on his face was priceless! I think the ghost was protecting us from this guy because he wasn’t trustworthy – the ghost seems harmless and helpful, but not the way I like to live! I moved out into an apartment 🙂
Michael J. Salvatore
Family’s History Invokes the Spirit(s) of Halloween
In his time, Walter R. Green was a hell of a guy. Some people- especially women- were charmed by his devil-may-care attitude. Others- particularly men of authority- thought he had a demonic streak. Most people agree that the eerie events surrounding him and his family’s property between Ellington Road and Avery Street led to changing the name of Lovely Street to Beelzebub Road.
Mr. Green had a promising start, born in 1865 as the only child of Andrew and Elmina Green, both descendants of old South Windsor families, including the Bissells and Grants. Between 1770 and 1890, their holdings grew to more than 300 acres.
Mr. Green’s father died in 1874, and his mother’s father Chester Barber was appointed his guardian. His mother married Lawrence B. Bissell, 26 years her senior, in 1881.
After coming of age in 1886, Mr. Green inherited his share of his father’s estate. Sherill Collins, who has studied the Green family, found that Mr. Green in 1899 deeded to his mother “all the real estate I inherited from my father, Andrew, including livestock, hay, grain, wagons, carriages, implements, and tools.”
Wilfred and Liz Hebert have owned the Green family home for several years. Mrs. Hebert has extensively researched the family, including interviews with former neighbors. Most recalled that the Greens frequently roamed about the woods nearby often at night; there were also rumors that they were sometimes in little clothing. The property, including the stately home at the corner of what is now the southeast corner of Ellington Road and Foster St. was reported to be poorly kept a century ago.
The 1900 census shows only Mr. Green and a servant, Ethel Case, age 19, as the residents. A year later he was married to Alice R. Doan of Ohio, and a year after that his mother put in trust the land previously deeded to her. Mr. Collins found that the mother named Alice’s brother as trustee and provided conditions in the case of her son’s death or divorce. The late Edward R. Kuehn, long-time probate judge here, noted that upon her death her property would go to Mr. Green if “he provided adequate support for his wife.”
A 1901 Hartford Courant news article sheds some light on the legal matters, noting that Mr. Green had been divorced by two women before his marriage to Miss Doan and had recently been placed in the Hartford Retreat for the Insane. He had often been in area courts including complaints by the Connecticut Humane Society about cruelty to animals. He escaped and fled to Massachusetts, but was brought back and later released.
Over the next few years, Mr. Green was back in courts several times, once again fined for cruelty to his horse, which he tried to hide at his mother’s home, and as plaintiff or defendant in disputes involving trivial crop purchases.
In 1916, Mrs. Bissell terminated her earlier trust, citing “difficulties” between the Greens and Doans, and reclaimed the family property. She was then living with her sister Mary Barber across from her son’s home. In 1920 Mr. Green and his mother were among boarders in a home near the west end of Sullivan Avenue. A year or so later, they were back at the Ellington Road home.
In February 1922, an Anna Glynn disappeared in the area of Lovely Street, as Beelzebub Road was still known, probably ironically since it was narrow and winding, little more than the cart path it had served as for a century. Some stories say the scary drive on the road had already led many to refer to it as the devil’s path. A search party was unable to find any trace of Miss Glynn, but later that year, a teen boy discovered her clothed skeleton in a pool of water near Barber Hill Road, less than a mile from the Mr. Green’s home. The cause of death was exhaustion and exposure.
That August, Mrs. Bissell was reported missing, after a neighbor reported seeing her walking through the fields partially dressed and calling for missing cows. Local officials and volunteers searched for a few days but found only some tracks and scattered clothing believed to have been hers.
Mr. Green was arrested in connection with the disappearance at a family cottage at Kelsey Point, Westbrook, and claimed he had been there for days before his mother’s disappearance. A local hearing determined that he had nothing to do with the event and he was released. Newspaper reports said seances were conducted at the family home in an effort to find her. In December, however, some area hunters came across most of a skeleton half buried under leaves and mold, the skull a few feet away. They notified First Selectman Raymond Belcher, who lived at the junction of what is now Ellington Road and Foster Street Extension. While awaiting state police, he went to the site with Manchester Herald reporter R. E. Carney. Both believed the small skull was that of a woman and that an apparent bone fracture above an eye socket possible evidence of foul play.
When Mr. Belcher took Mr. Green to the site, the Manchester Herald reported, “Mr. Green was touched and unable to speak when he came upon the skeleton.” Asked if he would accept it as his mother’s, he said, “My mother had a small head. I believe this is she all right.” The two men unsuccessfully searched the area for rings and spectacles she usually wore.
After medical examiner Dr. H. Jay Onderdonk determined the skeleton was a woman’s with no fractures to the skull as earlier believed, Coroner J. Gilbert Calhoun and State Police Supt. Frank M. Nichols said there would be no further investigation and gave Mr. Green permission to dispose of the bones.
Mr. Kuehn, though, said he had been told by Selectman Thomas L. Burgess and others that they had walked over the spot where the body was found during the searches and saw nothing suspicious.
In the mid-1930s, Mr. Green applied for administration of his mother’s will giving him the family property. According to Mr. Kuehn, it was granted with “a bond requiring him to return the assets in the event that she re-appeared with a five-year period.” He failed to do so, but got conditional title to the properties, including some his mother had inherited from her father.
About the same time, he married Lillian Grant of Buckland Rd., but she divorced him within days, reportedly receiving a large property settlement. The late William L. Waldron described her as “a lovely woman who was active in the community and taught Sunday school at the Wapping Church.”
Mr. Green managed to stay out of the news for the next decade, but in 1944 he was reported missing when neighbors said that a cow he had taken to pasture returned alone. State police found his body off Ellington Road, not very far from the spots where the missing women had been discovered years earlier. Dr. Onderdonk ruled that he had died from a heart attack.
The saga didn’t end with his death. The late Porter Collins, South Windsor’s first official town historian, said that when Mr.Green’s coffin was lowered at Wapping Cemetery, it jiggled briefly. Probate Judge Clara Allen ruled that the estate of his mother should be passed to his estate, estimated at over $100,000.
His will left the family home to Mrs. Fred Pennoyer of Washington, with whom he had been corresponding weekly for over ten years since being impressed by a poem she had published. It was sold quickly to Peter Karmazyn of Ellington. Other properties in South Windsor, Hartford, and Westbrook were left to his housekeeper and other area women.
According to Sherrill Collins, “The bulk of Walter’s property was sold by the bank acting as his executor to a partnership of McNamara and DiBerardina, who established it as ‘Green Acres’ and it ultimately became many individual building lots.”
That name, though, never really stuck, perhaps because of its spooky history.
I work at a grinder shop in Windsor. My Co workers name is Azmi and when he was little he went to his grandmother’s house which had been previously own by her parents, she had gotten a portrait of her self painted of a coach. This picture was hung up in the basement and Azmi was playing in the basement and saw the picture and was always kind of got a bad vibe from it. His grandmother was in the room with the coach that the picture was painted of and Azmi went into this room. When he was standing there he noticed imprints as if someone was sitting there but no one was sitting there. He said it was like spine chilling seeing imprints as if someone was sitting there when there was no actual body there.When ever he goes there witch is very rare he hears footstep as if someone is walking upstairs, but really is his great grandfathers boots. He’s only been there twice since then and never goes in that room and dose not stay by him self, because he is convinced his great grandparents ghosts are living in the home.
Sometimes the scariest things are not what we see, but what we don’t see. I grew up in a Connecticut Town called Plantsville. Our town was a small part of the greater town of Southington. Our home was an old farm house, small, quaint and the sidewalk to the street had a date stamped in it, now that date is faded in my mind, I believe it was 1910 but it could have been earlier or later. Newspapers lined the basement walls and the earliest one we found was 1890.
My parents and two step sisters grew up in this house in the 70’s. Our only source of heat was a wood burning stove, later changed to a coal burning stove. One of the bedrooms had a grate in the floor to allow the heat to move up the stairs. It was a typical old style home, when you went up the stairs you had a bedroom on the right, a closet in front of you and two bedrooms to the left. You had to walk through one bedroom to get to the other bedroom.
The stair case was fully enclosed with walls all around so it was dark, real dark. At night if we had to use the bathroom, not only did we not want to get out of our warm beds, but going down the stairs was a trial of the nerves. Even the strongest of wills would get the heebee jeebies in our stairwell. Not once do I ever remember walking down the stairwell with out the feeling that someone was behind me.
My mother always told me I had invisible friends growing up but nothing I was afraid of. As my sisters, 7 and 4 years older then I, entered puberty things got a lot worse. Doors would open and shut, the voices started, hearing people call your name when no one was there. You could hear people coming up and down the stairs and even a group of people talking.
When I was about 14 I woke up because I heard what sounded like galloping horses. I jumped up in bed only to see about 5-6 horses charging at my bed. I could feel their hot breath as they approached only to fade right in front of my eyes. All that remained was a puff of grayish smoke and a cold breeze. I was too scared to wake my father and mother and told them about it in the morning. My Dad mentioned that at one time they raced horses by where our house was. I never substantiated his claims but it sounded good enough to me.
Another experience was when my mother asked me to get my sister for dinner. I went upstairs to her room and called for her. I didn’t see her so I walked around the house; I went outside and everything, still no sister. I told my Mom I couldn’t find her, so I went back upstairs to go in my room and I jumped nearly a mile out of my clothes, there was my sister, sitting on her bed reading a story. “Where were you? I have been calling for you for like 20 minutes, dinner is almost ready.”
“What do you mean where have I been? I have been reading this book.”
She did not look out of breath or like she had tried to pull a fast one on me, she was seriously concerned that she had vanished from our house.
Another experience I had when I was about 12, my parents went out for the night and both of my sisters were gone. I was in the house by myself in my room when I heard the front door open. I said, “Hey Mom, Dad,” there was no response. I suddenly heard laughter and people talking. I thought perhaps my parents came home. I looked out to see if the car was in the drive way, it was not, no car, no parents. I ran and slammed my door, sticking my bed in front of it as I heard people walking around downstairs, talking and laughing. I could smell cigarette smoke and could hear people coming up the stairs. I ran and hid on the top shelf of my closet, just in case someone had broken in. I watched as my door knob turned and the door rattled. I am not sure how long I sat there in fear but eventually I heard my parent’s car pull in the driveway. I waited until the door opened and I moved my bed and ran downstairs; I was never left alone again.
These were all terrifying; my sister was chased by an invisible hell hound, my father tucked in like a mummy one night by the spirit of an older lady while my mother watched. The house continued with stories that would make the best horror writer shiver with delight. In fact one night, my sister and I both watched as a chair floated into our room. We had woken up many times to our beds shaking and seeing the black shadow in our room.
Those are NOT the most terrifying though, the most terrifying, the climax too it all happened one year when my oldest sister moved back in after being in Florida. She and her husband had just used a roll up foam mattress and stuck it in the back bedroom. Now remember, you have to walk through the middle bedroom, which was my room at the time, to get to their room. Well one night we were downstairs playing Gin Rummy and my sister, a CNA at the time worked the night shift often. She was very tired and wanted to head upstairs to go to bed. We heard her go up the stairs, cross the middle bedroom; we were right underneath it, to the end bedroom. We heard her lay down and the light go out; suddenly she let out a blood curdling scream. Then she was screaming, “No, No,” we jumped up and I ran ahead of my Brother in Law. Thinking the worst, someone had broken in and was harming my sister, we were both panicked. We got to the top of the stairs and I flipped the switch to the middle bedroom. In the doorway of the bedroom where my sister was there was a black mist.
I charged through the mist which smelled an awful lot like rotting trash and turned on the light. I was horrified at what I saw, bugs, bugs were everywhere. Beatles and flies looked like they had all hatched at the same time. My sister was on the floor screaming and pulling at her hair, “he’s in the bugs, he is trying to get in me, and he is in the bugs.” My Brother in Law at the time started to swat the bugs killing them. Trying to calm her down I looked at her, “who, who is in the bugs,” her eyes were glossed over and she whispered, “Evil.” I placed my hands on her head and I started praying, “Though I walk in the shadow of the valley of death I will fear no evil, Hail Mary Full of Grace,” we were not religious people, so how I even knew some of these prayers was beyond my comprehension. I finally yelled, “You can’t have her, Jesus will not allow you to have her.” Everything lifted, suddenly all of the bugs were out of the room, the light in the room brightened and my sister looked up at me, “What happened?”
“What do you remember?”
“Feeling pushed out.”
That is the last time she stayed there and the last time we talked about it. I have seen some very scary things in my life, but that one moment was the defining moment that sometimes, yes there is something called Evil, but you can defeat it if you so choose to.
That is why I say, don’t fear the spirits you see, it’s what you don’t see that scares you the most.
Victoria Rose DeAngelis
I was taking a Death and Dying course in college some years ago at the young age of 37…and we had to write a paper on whatever topic we wanted as long as it was death related! So being someone who could feel those who have passed on and at the time reading about people like John Edwards and James Von Pragh, I decided to do a paper on the common threads and beliefs of those who can channel the dead. I gathered up my resources and one book stood out for me and felt very heavy energetically…meaning it was difficult to even have it around me as I worked, but I persevered. I used a story from the book about the supposed first Spiritualists way back in the late 1800’s early 1900’s and it was a story about two sisters, one in Rochester NY with her family and the other in another state. The one sister who lived with her family lived in a home that she believed was haunted! When her sister got wind of this she saw $$$ signs and began to leak out the story and manipulate it to her benefit. As I came to a close on my paper, I left the book on the floor next to the computer and again felt so uncomfortable with it there, as if it were alive and speaking to me. I just brushed it off and went to bed. As I lay there my daughter who was in a crib at the time for she was just a baby…screamed over the monitor, “MOMMY, MAKE IT GO AWAY!” I took the covers off of me and tried to move and run to her, but just then the covers SHOT back over me and I was frozen! I took a deep breath and I knew this spirit was the girl from the Time book…I prayed and talked to her and realized no one had paid attention to her or prayed for her soul in over 100 years, so i did just that and soon the covers were movable once again, I checked on my daughter and all was well…the spirit moved on.
I don’t have a story, just a very sweet picture of a mom and her daughters. Well, ok, the mom looks a little scary.
It’s been said that super-intelligent people will count 13 dots on the girls shirt and those that are not so smart can only count 11. What do you think?
Twenty-five years ago I was engaged to a man whose wife died 18 months before I met him, she was 39 years old and died of cancer.
She was about my size but she had beautiful legs and wore shorts in the summer. I do not have beautiful legs and never wore shorts. This particular day I decided to wear shorts.
It was summer time and he was grilling out in the backyard. I came out of the house and out of the corner of my left eye I saw an image that was more like a long circular puff and I knew that this was Gene’s deceased wife. I did not have a bad feeling, it was just a knowledgeable feeling of what this was. It was a sunny day and I felt her walk in front of me and at that moment Gene looked up and I know for that moment he saw her. I know he thought it was from the sun shining down but I could feel her take over me for just a second and then she was gone. It was just a feeling, not a bad feeling, but a feeling. As quickly as it happened it was over just as quickly. I never mentioned this to him.
He had two teenage daughters still living at home and one time the younger daughter mentioned to me that she felt her mother in the house. I think this was just her way of letting me know she was still there. Sadly, we did not marry each other.
The Solider That Saved Me
I was in kindergarten at the time, and I had just learned how to ride my first bike that I had finally grown into. It was a warm Sunday afternoon and my friend was over and we were outside riding our bike around the yard while my mother and my friend’s mother were talking. If there was one thing I loved about my bike it was how fast it could go, and I wanted to show everyone how fast I was. So I started at the top of my drive way and went as fast as I could down to the end. What I didn’t know was that my mother was standing in the way, I called to her to get out of the way, but I was going so fast that no one had heard me. With only one choice left I hit my breaks as fast and as hard as I could. The breaks were only on the front tires, so the back of the bike went up in the air, and as it did I got sent up into the air as well, and sent over the front of the bike. Knowing how bad landing on the black pavement would be I put my arms out in front of me so I could somehow lessen the impact of the fall. As I came closer to the ground I began to feel a strange sensation, as though someone was trying to cradle my fall so that I wouldn’t land as hard. When I landed, I skid across the pavement a bit. As I got up I noticed that nothing was broken, and there were no scratches or marks that the drive way should have made. Once I looked up after checking myself, and my mother looked me over for any cuts and scrapes. I saw something that I wasn’t expecting to see. Standing just a few feet away, was a solider. At first he had a worried look on his face, but when I looked at him he simply smiled. As if he knew I was saying thank you. Years have come and go since then, but every now and then I will still see him either walking around the yard outside, or I will see him standing in the kitchen at the back door. I don’t think he plans to leave anytime soon, but he’s a good ghost and I’m ok with that.
Ever since I can remember, I’ve lived with a ghost. I grew up in an old house that was haunted by an owner who committed suicide in it. Over the years we have had many experiences with the spirit, who we refer to as “our friend”, but none has fascinated me more than one of the experiences my mom had with him.
Upon research, my family discovered that the young man killed himself on Aug. 17 sometime in the late 1920s. Out of curiosity, my mother and her friend would stay up late every anniversary to see if anything out of the ordinary would happen. On one such anniversary, they were sitting in the living room of the home when they heard a window shut in the kitchen. The both got up to check and, though there was no one in the kitchen, a glass cabinet door was smashed. My mother’s friend spooked and left right after that. That same night, about 2 a.m., my mom heard what sounded like someone taking a glass and throwing it violently against the wall. She went downstairs to the kitchen, thinking our dog at the time had gotten into something, but found the dog asleep and nothing out of the ordinary. When she awoke the next morning, she went to the kitchen and, sitting on a shelf in one of the cabinets put together in a thousand tiny pieces like a jigsaw puzzle, was one of the gold leaf glasses my grandmother had given my parents for their wedding. Thinking she was seeing things, she called to my father to come have a look. He can confirm the story. When they went to pick it up, however, the glass broke apart.
I met a friend in Newport R.I. in the early 90’s who was an antiquities dealer. This friend was going to Fall River, Mass. to pickup a ship model from a man who built custom models for museums. When we got to the house I noted how old and authentic to its origins it looked. The owner told me the home dated to the 1700’s and was built by two brothers who were ship wrights. During the dinner, in the home, I asked if the home owner or wife had ever experienced a “ghost” in the home. The home owner told me that they did not like to talk about things of that type but he would tell me of one occurrence if we did not speak of it again. I agreed…he told me he was out in his work shop late in the afternoon and his wife called to him to remind him they were going out for dinner and to come in and clean up. The man walked into his home just as his wife ran across the upstairs hallway from one bedroom to the other she was wearing a strange formal dress. The husband shouted up to her “Why are you dressed like that”? The wife walked into the front hall from the living room in her jeans and said “dressed like what?” The man looked up then looked down at his wife and told her what he just saw. They were the only two people in the house. The man said “the woman in the dress” was very distinct and not a faded image. With that we had desert.
Angels and Cigarettes
The lights in the bus flicker on and off like they are shorting out as the bus cruises down the dark night streets. It’s late I’m tired and I don’t recall even getting on the bus. The passengers look old – not so much age-wise as outdated somehow. I am in the seat just past the rear exit. So I am almost face to face with a man who looks cool – in a retro biker kind of way – in leather biker jacket (with colors!) denim shirt, leather pants long wavy hair and bushy goatee mustache. “You wanted to be me… didn’t you? But you didn’t think
you were cool enough,” he said and abruptly stepped off the bus.
I chuckled to myself at the odd one-sided exchange. Before I could give it a second thought a woman was at the door. Attractive older familiar. Wicked Irish looks, with thick red hair, mischievous smile and Killer legs stretching from her skirt to her heels. I know her from somewhere, I thought. Her eyes piercing as they trained on mine – but they still… looked… distant.
“You always looked at me Like you wanted me… I was your dream girl…” her voice almost sang the words.
“I was the best parts of them all… All the time.” The bus stopped and she was gone.
What the f–k is going on here? I thought. I must be dreaming!
I didn’t want to look at anyone so I looked out the window. I needed to see where I was and where I was going. But all I could see outside was dark. I felt confused. I was not in control, and I especially hated that feeling. The almost sickening musty smell, like old dirty car cloth upholstery, was lingering heavy in the air.
Five soldiers were huddled in the back seat. A scared looking kid was sitting in the middle of the pack. All tired and dirty faces – like they were all just back from battle. But their uniforms all looked so different. Like different era combat fatigues. World War I, World War II, Korea, Vietnam… The kid in the middle was wearing a Gulf War uniform. Must have been a party, I thought, and looked back out the window.
“You won’t see much out there… not yet,” said a man on a seat nearby. His skin looked almost glossy as it stretched snugly on his skull. The woman with him – who looked about the same nodded her head as she chain smoked cigarette after cigarette. I couldn’t look away right away and was startled when I did to see a man with long hair and dark complexion and what looked like fresh blood red and sticky on his hands.
“Who are you?” I asked (And I don’t know why I asked – he scared me!)
“You could have saved me,” he whispered.
“When? How? From what?” I asked.
“I’ve been right here… What happened? Are you alright?” I was getting a little pissed and extremely uncomfortable.
“When you had the chance… all you had to do was act. You only needed to believe you could… and then do it,” the man said, in a soft, barely audible voice.
This is too weird I thought as the man flashed a gentle smile as he stepped off the bus. They must think I’m someone else.
When I looked over at the nearby couple they were gone, moved to a seat near the front.
The people riding the bus were looking back at me.
“I am not the person you think I am,” I said. At the next flicker of light they were looking away… except the chain smoking woman who just shook her head.
“I’m not,” I said, quietly rocking to the steady jerking movement of the bus. I stared at my hands clenched on the railing in front of me.
I glanced over to see the couple – who I now know somehow are older – sitting nearby again.
The woman leans over probably to get a better look.
Still smoking shaking her head.
“Do you think you maybe blame us a little too much?” The man asked.
“How could I?” I answered.
“I don’t blame you. I don’t. I don’t know what is happening. Do you? Where am I? When did I get here?”
I finish but they are gone. back to the front. But I didn’t see them move. I could not contain my emotions. I felt the knot in my stomach – The lump in my throat – The tears on my face.
“I don’t know either,” the young soldier in the middle of the pack said. I looked back to see if he was talking to me.
But his friends were patting his shoulder, embracing him, telling him it was OK.
Between flickers of light it looked as though blood would occasionally wash over the crew – showing up on their hands faces and uniforms. The toughness they showed with the uniforms and dirt and worn looks was countered by the fact that they were only kids – young men actually of 18, 19 or 20, themselves.
“It’s OK,” a young girl of about nine or ten, sitting next to me said.
“It’s OK… really.”
“When did you sit down here?” I asked.
“Oh, I’ve always been here,” she said. “I’ve been here the whole time!”
She looked Normal. Not like the rest. Very calming.
“Do I know you?”
“I’ve always wanted to get to know you!”
She said, taking my hand, with a big smile.
I whispered to her, “What is happening? Am I like dreaming? Am I dead? I don’t know how I got here,”
I started to talk, but she put her fingers on my mouth to stop me from talking.
“Those things are not important any more…
Shhhhhhhh,” She said.
“Let’s take a bus ride!”
I look forward trying to focus on where I was – and wondering why – or if – this little girl would be traveling alone when between flashes of light I noticed the bus driver’s reflection in the mirror starring back at me.
“Where am I?” I asked.
“On my bus,” he said. No shit, I thought.
“But where are we? How did I get here? When…”
He interrupted, “You never saw me coming,” he chuckled.
“Coming from where?” I asked, but he looked away, into the dark, black front windshield.
I noticed a cat curled up on a seat nearby.
It has probably been sleeping the whole time, I thought, but looked over again to see it staring back at me. No matter what… Cats are always the same. Bit I somehow expected this one to start talking.
“Cat’s can’t talk, Daddy,” the little girl said.
“But I didn’t say that… out loud,” I said.
“Our stop is next, daddy. You are ready to get off now,” the little girl said.
“We’re getting off here, son,” the man said, as he and the chain smoking woman stood at the door.
“Please tell me… what’s going on?”
I asked, exhausted, almost in a defeated whisper.
“We’re at Bauer Park. One of your favorite places in the world,” the woman said.
“OK – so you are my parents – my long dead parents – and you,”
I looked at the little girl
“Sara?” She smiled.
“But you took only one breath when you were born… and then you were gone. Is it you?”
She just smiled, and seemed excited that I recognized her.
“OK Daddy, show me your’s and mom’s garden, and the covered bridge, and the stream… Show me why you love this place. Come on…”
She had my hand and pulled me gently from the flickering darkness of the bus to the light of the garden.
“Can they come?” I asked, motioning towards the soldiers.
“They will be off soon. They will visit us later,” Sara said.
“And you mom, still smoking? even here?”
“Don’t start,” she said.
She lay silent and content while the sun bathed her pale skin. The warmth of the afternoon shine reminded her of hot summer mornings, sunburns, tanning oil, and minimal bathing suit coverage. Though it was now winter and she was wearing a baggy blue sweater, she still appreciated the winter sun.
The beach was covered lightly by the sprinkle of snow from the evening before. The deep bay window she curled up in gave her a full view of the shore and its winter beauty. She catnapped under the intensity of the sun and the comfort of her blanket. The bay window was her favorite place to fall asleep.
She had purchased the dilapidated seaside English Manor house at a steal. It had long since fallen into disrepair, empty for what the realtor claimed to be close to a hundred years – the sand and sea ripped its own pathway through the empty corridors, sanded the wood and stone to soft curved floor beds throughout the house. She had found the listing on the market and was immediately drawn to its architectural oddity. In a coastal town filled with Cape Cod style houses this manor stood like a guard at a greater fortress. The house faced the steep rolling dunes of the far side of the beach, not the water or the road, almost as if it was looking out beyond the hills, waiting.
She had been warned by the townspeople of the house’s formidable presence, its ghostly essence, and all its stories. There were of course the usual rumors of great loves, betrayal, anguish, fury, blood and death. A woman not taken by ghost stories she paid no mind to the endless warnings she was given to stay clear of the ghostly wreck. She purchased the house, moved into one its many wings and began her reconstruction plans.
In a desire to maintain the house’s unique architectural integrity she did very little to modify the foundation, with the exception of the west wing – facing the sea. At the ground level of the manor it stood, bay window in the center, stretching vast and open, yet somehow enclosed. Except for a single small door leading into the other grander rooms of the house, and the enormous window at its center, the floor was stone and sand, the ceiling yellow and decayed with time, the walls stained by weather and what looked like grease.
There was no record of this long cell’s use or previous inhabitants. Where the rest of the house had the appearance of previous life, this singular room, apart from the window held no artifact – not a picture or worn wallpaper – nothing. Though the life of the house’s ghost stories sprang from this very wing, according to the townspeople, the new occupant decided to build the center of her home in just that corner.
The reconstruction of the window was the final addition, designed just by her. Five feet off the ground, seven feet wide, six feet deep, and seven feet tall. She nestled on the mattress cut to fit the trapezoidal bed. The pillows were thick, and filled to the bursting with down. She had intended to live in this very manor peacefully, rested, and soothed.
That was how he found her the very first time. A small boy, no older than six, entered from the far end of the room, almost as if he had melted through the wall. Dressed in worn, ripped slacks, stained in the what appeared to be grease, no shirt, and shoes with barely any sole left to contain his tiny feet. He ducked his head, never taking an eye off the sleeping woman, and tiptoed towards her resting place, as light and dizzyingly as rising smoke.
His obsession was immediate, and overwhelming.
Everyday after she fell lightly into her nap he would appear, always out of the corner, always walking to her, just out of reach. He’d stare intently at her rising and falling chest, the slight flicker of her eyelids and facial muscles. Sometimes the boy would sit on the low ground beside her, picking at his faded shoes, never looking away from her.
At night, after she had gone back to her bed, he’d come sit in her window seat, leaning all the way down into her pillows, as if to take in her scent.
She was perfect, he watched her everyday, every minute, every breath, he loved her, and he longed for her. Today he sat beside her.
The pillows and mattress in the window, assorted colors of red, had been designed to depict almost every shade. As he began to climb the sill, barely breathing, he was reminded with quiet hysteria of a break, or a sore in perfect skin, a crack, a wound.
He slid down and sat next to her keeping his weight off the cushion as much as he could. His hands trembled as he caressed the air above her. Tears streaming from his face, cutting lines like water through ash, he dared not touch her.
Shifting from her, he reached his hand out to the window, and she began to stir. The air was freezing around her as she began to wake. As she reached for her blanket, she noticed the light from the window had breaks, as if someone was blocking its flow. Sitting feet from her was a small pale boy, barely darker than the lines of the sun pouring through the window, holding her hands, his eyes black as coal, grease lines down his face. He appeared to open his mouth to say something before he vanished through the glass and into the sunlight. Her heart was in her throat, as she attempted to focus on what she had just seen, and she barely made out of the words cut into the glass.
Please forgive me…
The scream, never quite made it to her lips.
The Whisper of the Wood
It all started on a stormy evening when the Martin family arrived at the murky Lake Eerie. As they walked up the front steps the creaky door swung open revealing broken lamps, torn furniture and singed curtains. The air was cold and smelled of sulfur and no matter what they did it wouldn’t go away.
They flicked switches and turned dials but the storm had caused the power lines to break. There was a fireplace but no wood so the parents sent Evangeline and Charlie out into forest to gather some. Unfortunately all the wood nearby was soaked so they plunged deeper into the forest in search of firewood.
Suddenly there was a noise in the trees, a hair-raising moan and everything went cold. The huddled together trying to salvage any of the body heat they could, that’s when the figure appeared; it emerged through the foliage floating down toward the children.
It hissed a few unrecognizable words while moving its grey shapeless body closer to Evangeline, then it stopped, and pulled a dagger from what looked like a tattered cloak. It adjusted the scarf tied tightly around its neck and swept toward the trunk of an old tree carving three simple words into it: DON’T DEFY ME!
Axe Murder Hollow: A Pennsylvania Ghost Story
retold by S.E. Schlosser
Susan and Ned were driving through a wooded empty section of highway. Lightning flashed, thunder roared, the sky went dark in the torrential downpour.
“We’d better stop,” said Susan.
Ned nodded his head in agreement. He stepped on the brake, and suddenly the car started to slide on the slick pavement. They plunged off the road and slid to a halt at the bottom of an incline.
Pale and shaking, Ned quickly turned to check if Susan was all right. When she nodded, Ned relaxed and looked through the rain soaked windows.
“I’m going to see how bad it is,” he told Susan, and when out into the storm. She saw his blurry figure in the headlight, walking around the front of the car. A moment later, he jumped in beside her, soaking wet.
“The car’s not badly damaged, but we’re wheel-deep in mud,” he said. “I’m going to have to go for help.”
Susan swallowed nervously. There would be no quick rescue here. He told her to turn off the headlights and lock the doors until he returned.
Axe Murder Hollow. Although Ned hadn’t said the name aloud, they both knew what he had been thinking when he told her to lock the car. This was the place where a man had once taken an axe and hacked his wife to death in a jealous rage over an alleged affair. Supposedly, the axe-wielding spirit of the husband continued to haunt this section of the road.
Outside the car, Susan heard a shriek, a loud thump, and a strange gurgling noise. But she couldn’t see anything in the darkness.
Frightened, she shrank down into her seat. She sat in silence for a while, and then she noticed another sound. Bump. Bump. Bump. It was a soft sound, like something being blown by the wind.
Suddenly, the car was illuminated by a bright light. An official sounding voice told her to get out of the car. Ned must have found a police officer. Susan unlocked the door and stepped out of the car. As her eyes adjusted to the bright light, she saw it.
Hanging by his feet from the tree next to the car was the dead body of Ned. His bloody throat had been cut so deeply that he was nearly decapitated. The wind swung his corpse back and forth so that it thumped against the tree. Bump. Bump. Bump.
Susan screamed and ran toward the voice and the light. As she drew close, she realized the light was not coming from a flashlight. Standing there was the glowing figure of a man with a smile on his face and a large, solid, and definitely real axe in his hands. She backed away from the glowing figure until she bumped into the car.
“Playing around when my back was turned,” the ghost whispered, stroking the sharp blade of the axe with his fingers. “You’ve been very naughty.”
The last thing she saw was the glint of the axe blade in the eerie, incandescent light.
During the summer, I work at an old boarding school built in the mid 1800’s in Connecticut. This past summer during one of the weekend mall trips, one of the other teachers decided it would be fun to buy a Ouija board. Everyone figured what better place to try to contact spirits than a 150 year old school? That night after midnight, a group of 5 of us went into one of the oldest buildings to set up. We gathered a group of old armchairs around an old wooden table, turned off all cell phones (someone read spirits don’t appreciate technology), turned off the lights, and pulled the shades. Now I am not particularly religious, but 9 years of Catholic School Nun’s voices went running through my head, telling me not to do it. I sat outside the circle with another teacher who felt the same. The 3 inside the circle all put their fingers on the magnifying glass and started asking questions. For awhile, nothing happened (as we expected). Then after about 5 long silent minutes, my colleagues received a response. One of them asked, “Is there anyone here?” The marker moved to “y.”
“Can we speak to you?” he asked.
“What does 5 mean?”
“5.” The questions went on like that for a few more minutes, all with the answer being 5. It then dawned on one of them that there were 5 of us in the room, but only 3 participating. I thought that it was very lousy of my coworkers to try to pull a prank like that, but after seeing the sincerity in their faces, the two of us begrudgingly joined. We all very lightly placed a finger on the marker. The leader of our group asked if anyone was there again, and the following conversation will stay with me forever.
“Is anyone here?”
“How many of you?”
“How many are good spirits?”
“May we talk to the good spirit?”
“Thank you. What is your name?”
We went on to ask her age, when she died, etc. which she gave different responses to each time. We read later that spirits supposedly have no concept of time. When we asked too complicated a question, or if she did not want to answer, she would move the marker back and forth across the table. The marker would move so quickly in agitation or to answer that sometimes our fingers couldn’t keep up. It was hard to keep my tears back as the questions progressed.
“Are you sad?”
“Can we help you?”
“How can we help you?”
“C” One of us then realized she meant “see.”
“M-E” That was when one person burst into frightened tears and we had to say goodbye to MAMA. We learned that you must always ask them for permission to leave the Ouija board. She hesitated around the “no” before answering “yes.” To this day, most people do not believe us. I frankly would not have believed it if I wasn’t there. I will never forget the fear I felt when she asked us to see her. Sorry Mama, but that’s just some help I cannot provide you.
Jacob Hart was a high school history teacher; he was an entertaining and charismatic man whose main goal was to make his students’ learning experience worthwhile and enjoyable. The year was 1973. Allen Sharpe, one of Mr. Hart’s sophomore students, was a muscular football player, very popular, kind, conscientious, and the cause of stars in many a freshman girl’s eye. One October day, Mr. Hart was looking through the school library; he was in search of a book to use in his lesson regarding religious controversy (the students were to debate whether or not the existence of the Devil and Black Magic was probable). After an hour of searching, he came across a volume titled The Days of Old: Religious Theories of the Fifteenth Century. He flipped through the musty pages rather anxiously and came across a spell that, if recited at midnight, was said to bring back a devil, a demon, from Hell. This devil would then walk the Earth for three days. Mr. Hart chuckled; this would make for an interesting class discussion! Smiling, he checked out the book.
During class the following day, Mr. Hart entertained the class by showing a projection of the page containing the “Dark spell” on the overhead projector. This brought many a laugh from the students, who, at the time, thought nothing of the strange words on the page.
Allen Sharpe, one of Mr. Hart’s sophomore students, was a muscular football player, very popular, kind, conscientious, and the cause of stars in many a freshman girl’s eye. After class, he and some of his friends thought it would be fun to try out the old spell Mr. Hart had shown them so lightheartedly. Allen innocently asked Mr. Hart if he may borrow the book so as to “further explore the fascinating subject of past religion.” That night, Allen and three of his friends drove to the woods in their town. The gravel road crunched under the tires of the car as they pulled up to the edge of the woods as silently as possible. Constantly checking over their shoulders for followers, the boys ventured a ways into the woods so that they would be completely concealed by trees and underbrush. Eventually, they came to a clearing that was bathed in the light of the full moon shining down from a world above. They sat down on the grass and surrounded themselves with a circle of white rocks, having heard that it kept evil spirits away. (“Plus,” Allen told his friends, “It adds to the mood!”) Then, at the stroke of midnight, the football player read the spell aloud. “Facite quod fuit,” he whispered, hands trembling with excitement and anticipation. A whole minute passed by: nothing. Allen’s friends laughed at the utter foolishness of the situation. Suddenly, a twig snap was heard mere feet away.
“Did you hear that?” asked Tim LeDuc, one of Allen’s friends, as he peered into the ominous darkness of the trees. The boys fell silent, listening. Suddenly, they heard what sounded like a horse’s hooves in the distance. The clip-clopping of hoof on earth grew louder and heavier until it felt as if the horse was galloping within the boys’ bones. They whirled to see an enormous black horse coming towards them; its eyes like coal and its mane as sleek and glossy as the feathers of a raven. The rider nearly blended in with his steed; a long black cape and hood covered his face and he was wielding a long sword. The boys were stunned, unable to find their voices or move their feet. Horse and rider sped closer; it was then that they noticed another boy their age running like a madman, the horse thundering after him. As the boy and his pursuer neared the clearing, the mysterious horseman struck with his sword, delivering a clean slice. The boy was dead before he hit the ground. Allen’s heart lept and lodged itself somewhere in his throat when he caught a glimpse of the victim’s face; he knew that boy. Slowly, he turned to his friends, who stared at him with a mix of terror and confusion. The boy who lay dead was Allen. But how—?
The rider yanked on the reins of his panting horse, turning to face the boys. Both man and beast glared down with black fire burning in their fathomless eyes. If looks could kill, all four of the boys would be gone in an instant. The boys screamed, grabbed the book, and ran for their lives back through the woods. They fought through brambles and vines, tripping over themselves and one another, until they reached the place where Allen had parked the car. Once inside, they sped off in silence, terrified of what had just happened. However, Allen’s hands were shaking so badly that he had to pull over for fear of driving of the road. The boys sat, terrified, reviewing the event to make sure they had all seen the same thing. They had. Suddenly, one of the boys glanced at the rear-view mirror and let out a yell of fear. The boys turned to look out the back window and saw a horribly familiar black figure emerging from the woods. As he stepped onto the road in the light of the car, they could finally make out his features. A scarred face was partially concealed by a matted black beard and icy eyes stared out menacingly from under equally bushy eyebrows. The figure strode toward the car, sword at the ready. Allen fumbled for his keys and jammed them into the ignition, but the car would not start. By a stroke of luck, the engine roared to life just as the caped figure took his first swing at the car and Allen sped away like a racecar driver in the Daytona 500. No words were spoken on the drive home; however, a silent pact was made between the four boys that night; none of them would ever speak of the event.
The next day in class, Mr. Hart noticed Allen sitting alone in the back corner of the classroom, sickly pale and holding a Cross that was draped around his neck. The entire period went by and Allen, normally a very active student, said nothing. Mr. Hart, concerned for the boy, pulled him aside at the end of class and asked him what was wrong. Allen shook his head, feeling as though if he opened his mouths, everything but words would come spilling out. Mr. Hart, however, insisted that Allen told him what was going on. Was he disturbed by the subject matter? Had talk of the Devil insulted his beliefs? Finally, Allen retold the story of the rider and his steed, the boy who was killed, and every other gruesome detail of that night. Mr. Hart listened patiently, frowning occasionally.
“So then, we sped off. I think he’s gone now, but….” Allen trailed off.
“I see. I must say, Mr. Sharpe, you are very immersed in this subject,” Mr. Hart mused.
“I’m telling the truth!”
“Oh, I believe you.”
“Yes. I do.” Allen nodded, hoisting his backpack up on one shoulder. “Thank you.”
“It’s not a problem,” Mr. Hart said warmly. “I’ll see you in class tomorrow.” Allen nodded once more and left the room, feeling slightly better. Mr. Hart watched him go in silence, a dark shadow passing over his face. He sighed deeply and rubbed his temples, feeling awful. If he had known it was Allen in the woods, he never would have swung.
Our Neighbors are All Dead
We live just outside of Carpenterville beyond Whistling Creek Bridge and across from the cemetery. Papa would joke that we had the quietest neighbors in the world, and Mama would scold Papa for such insolence. Mama, although very well educated and worldly in many ways, was quite medieval in her superstitions. She warned us never to venture into the cemetery, less we disturb the eternal slumber of our good neighbors. We heeded her warning, for the most part.
It was a blustery autumn night, and our cat Fluffy hadn’t been seen for three days. This in its self was not unusual, as Fluffy was predominantly an outdoors cat whose hunting ground was the cemetery. Nevertheless, Kate and I were concerned as the weather had taken a frosty turn for the worse. It was just before 6:00 pm when both Mama and Papa walked into town to attend the first school board meeting of the year. Before they left they gave us the usually lecture about safety, homework, and bedtime. Mama said not to worry too much about Fluffy as he would certainly come home before too long.
Kate and I tried to focus on our homework, but between the babbling of the river, whistling of the wind, and the slapping of the tree branches, focusing on anything but Fluffy was impossible. Impulsively, we decided to venture outside to look for him, flashlights and sweaters in hand. Kate and I both seemed to be swayed, as if by the wind, across the road towards the cemetery gate, which is usually locked, but tonight was opened wide. We sheepishly walked in calling out Fluffy’s name, as if we could possibly be heard over the wind, water and leaves.
Neither Kate nor I had ever been in a cemetery before. It was fascinating, very crowded and very old. Much of the weathered writing on the tomb stones was hard to read, and occasionally the tombstones had engraved the image of the person buried there. We continued to walk and call, when suddenly some large bird, an owl or hawk or something, flew towards us and over our heads. We must have disturbed its nest.
After walking further into the cemetery, Kate and I saw a lovely stone house. But it was dark and cold and had only gates for a door and window. It was rather small, unlike any stone house that we had ever seen. As we walked on, we noticed another with the gate wide open, and as we peered inside we felt a certain warmth, and we could smell cinnamon and nutmeg, as if someone had been burning a candle. We quickly walked around the back of the house to see if someone was there and when we returned to the front, the gate had been shut and locked, but by whom we did not know.
Nervous as we were, we continued on. We were determined to find Fluffy. After a few moments we could see a faint light in the distance. As we walked towards the light we could hear the screeching of metal against metal. And then we heard a child singing, a tune, a lovely tune; we had never heard it before. There Fluffy was, purring, relishing in the arms of a young girl. The girl was dressed in white lace, softly singing, swinging in an old iron hammock, and loving our Fluffy with all her being.
Fluffy and the young girl seemed to hardly notice us as we approached. Kate said hello and asked the girl her name. She responded Clara and told us that her cat’s name was Purstrufles. Kate and I looked at each other a bit perplexed, but neither of us dared to contradict the girl. We asked where she lived and she told us just beyond the holly trees. We offered to walk her home as it was late and she said that would be fine. Kate commented that her lace dress was beautiful and the girl replied that she always wore it, and that her grandma had made it for her.
As we walked through the holly trees, we saw another small house made of stone, but this time there was a dim light emanating from inside. Clara thanked us for walking her home and ran ahead into the house. We quickly followed her, but when we cautiously stepped into the house, both Clara and the light were gone. All that was left was an eerie warmth and the sweet smell of cinnamon and nutmeg. We used our flashlights to peer around, and noticing the narrowness of the room and the engraved writing on the walls, Kate and I realized that this was a mausoleum, a resting place for the dead. Engraved on the wall to the left by the back window was the relief portrait of a young girl. And below the portrait read the name Clara Elizabeth Carpenter, born 1692, died 1701. At that moment of realization, Kate and I felt a frosty pain run through us. We stood there in single remorseful thought. Our silence seemed to last forever, but was broken when Fluffy meowed and brushed against Kate’s leg, as if beckoning us to come home.
Kate and I never told Mama and Papa of that night or of our encounter with Clara. But occasionally, when the circumstance warrants, we will talk about Clara, and cherish that autumn night the three of us had together. As for Fluffy, well he brought the three of us together, and when he wanders off for long periods of time, we know that Clara is caring for him.