Owl Head Lake

One wonders how these places get their names. There was nothing especially owlish about its 60 acres of surface or the little islands that poked their domed heads above it. It was a pretty lake in the Tennessee woods, peaceful and pristine. Exactly the kind of place Monty needed for a few days of splendid isolation. Fishing, reading, getting back in touch with his inner man. A few precious days to decompress before the firm reeled him back in and sucked him dry.
There were a couple of reasons Owl Head Lake appealed to him. One was its inaccessibility. Three miles of dirt road to a primitive campground ruled out all but the most determined campers. The second was its unpopularity. The lake had acquired a bad reputation ever since people began disappearing from its shores—a group of teenagers vanished a few years ago, their tents and gear untouched. Before that a family went missing without a trace. And those were just the two that he knew of; he supposed there were more. On both occasions the lake was dragged, divers sent into its murky depths, to no avail. The divers reported the lake was uncommonly deep and cold but harbored nothing out of the ordinary. So the stories grew that the lake was cursed and as the stories multiplied, the locals kept away and its campsites gradually fell into disrepair.

If tall tales and ghost stories kept campers away, that suited Monty just fine. The last thing he wanted was company, some garrulous stranger making chitchat about the weather or some tedious retired couple from Des Moines. No Owl Head Lake was just the tonic he needed. Who knew what happened to those teen-age campers. Kids are famous for making stupid decisions. He could imagine them yelling, “Watch this” just before plunging over a cliff.
As for the lake’s reputation for being haunted or stalked by a serial killer, well he was a city boy and violent death was all around him. He knew the odds of being killed by a stranger were greater than getting struck by lightening. And besides as a lawyer he made his living defending the most depraved sociopaths on the planet. No, he wasn’t afraid of a violent end, he was afraid of some friendly camper destroying his solitude.
His heart sank when he first drove in and saw the bright blue of a tent pitched near his favorite site. He needn’t have worried the neighbors were packing up and leaving. The man came over to Monty his face showing obvious signs of distress.

Owl Head Lake

The Haunting at Green Elm Cemetery Bridge

The day was warm for October, but he loved the fall regardless. The crisp, cool mornings and warm afternoons were a respite from the relentless summer heat of north central Texas.

The year was 1948 and four cattlemen were on their way back home to Chico, just north of Bridgeport. They had been out to west Texas to purchase cattle. The weather being dry and the land parched as drought had claimed it earlier that year, recalled G.E. Francis, age 92 when he shared this ghostly tale in 2002. A strange account indeed, but one that certainly gains the respect of the reader once the details of the day are told.
“We’d been on the road for hours, stuffed into Buford’s brown 1939 Buick. There was no air-conditioning in cars back then and the trip had been a long one.” The car rattled along the old Green Elm road through, what was known in those days as “the bottoms”, a stretch of dirt highway that ran between Wizard Wells, now a ghost town, and Chico. The old road is now mostly covered by water, encompassed by the far north end of Lake Bridgeport, located on the Jack-Wise County lines south of Texas FM 1810.
“We had to stop for a nature break. We were close to home, but when you got to go, you got to go! We decided to go ahead and pull over when Buford simply came to a complete stop right on the bridge. You could do that in those days as you may not see another car for a half hour or so.” This particular bridge spanned the west fork of the Trinity River and was constructed with an iron frame support beams and wooden slats for car tires.

The four companions were relieved to get a break from the cramped car as the sun was just about to set in the western sky. As they finished their business they stood on the bridge taking in the scenery and making small talk as the blue sky above faded into orange and yellow hues upon the vast Texas horizon. The bridge was called “Green Elm Cemetery Bridge,” because of its proximity to an old cemetery located about 500 yards south of its location and just beyond a bend in the river.

The Haunting at Green Elm Cemetery Bridge

Ghost In My Room

by Daniel
(Texas) 
I had a very terrifying experience one night. Before I had never experienced anything paranormal and was very skeptical to things that were supernatural. But this night definitely scared me into believing.

It was about 11 o'clock at night when the first strange thing began happening. I had gone to bed around 10 as it was a school night and was dwelling on insomnia at this time. I was getting close to sleep and closed my eyes when my bed began to shake. I didn't know what was happening at first but when I realized it wasn't me shaking the bed I threw the covers over my head like a little kid and kept my eyes shut. The shaking lasted about 2 minutes and then abruptly stopped. I waited a few seconds and then I pulled back the covers and looked around my room. No one was there and it was completely silent. Then my doorknob suddenly started shaking like someone was trying to open my door. It shook for a few seconds then I heard the ping of the brass like the lock had been unlocked. I had not locked my door before bed. The door opened to a crack and then swung back violently and stopped just before hitting the wall. I sat upright in my bed staring at the door scared out of my mind. Then in the blink of an eye a shadow crossed the doorway and went into the hall bathroom. The bathroom light came on and the bathroom door slammed shut. I didn't know what to do so I sat frozen in my bed. I watched the light from under the bathroom door turn off and then the bathroom door open. The shadow whooshed by my door and then my door slammed shut. I immediately threw my head under the covers and began saying prayers that I remembered from my Catholic school days. I didn't sleep the rest of the night and spent the next few nights sleeping on the couch in the living room.

Ghost In My Room

Olde Fort Mifflin

There is only one word for Fort Mifflin during a siege reenactment.  LOUD!  My ears were ringing as I hurried inside the ammunition mound, according to my assigned role.  The mound muffled the sound of canons a little bit.  But I still reckoned I'd be deaf all day tomorrow! 
The air grew chillier as I moved deeper into the mound.  It felt as if I'd entered a cavern, and the tiny hairs on the back of my neck bristled.  I rubbed my neck, trying to make the feeling go away, and shivered as another gust of cold air hit my face.  I was freezing cold in spite of my heavy Revolutionary uniform, and I almost turned and left the mound in spite of my errand when I heard someone crying at the very back of the mound. 
I hurried to the sound, and saw a boy curled up into a ball, crying hard because he was scared by the sound of the cannons.  I couldn't blame him.   
"Are you lost?" I asked him.  "Shall I get your parents?"
He didn't seem to see me, and he kept crying into his tattered sleeve.  His costume looked even more realistic than mine, down to the poor dirty little bare feet. 

Olde Fort Mifflin

ARCHER AVENUE

Resurrection Mary is the most famous of story from Archer Avenue in south Chicago, but there are several more of disappearing hitchhikers, ghostly monks, ghost lights and even one about the devil.
It used to be an indian trail going from Fort Dearborn to what is now the southwest suburbs. It is said that the original residents made the path there because of a mystical force that was linked to the next world. Paranormal energies would be attracted because of this force which would explain why it is so haunted.
It is true that the Indians used this area as a burial ground. When the French came in the 1600's they built a mission and a signal post. Then the Irish came and built a church named St. James-Sag right next to the burial grounds. In 1850 the old log cabin was replaced by a pale yellow rectory still being used today. It looks over the graves on the hills below.

ARCHER AVENUE

H.H. HOLMES

Born Herman W. Mudgett in 1860, H.H. Holmes, which he changed his name to, was to become America's first serial killer. As a boy he was always getting into trouble which continued through his later years. He was remembered for his cruelty to animals and children. He was, although, a good student and used the money his wife had inherited to pay for his tution to medical school.
He transfered to the Univeristy of Michigan and figured out a way of stealing dead bodys from the lab. He would make them unrecongnizable and put them where it seemed as if they had been in terrible accidents, before which he had taken out insurance policies for his "family members". He would then collect the insurance money.
When things started getting a little risky he left Ann Arbor and disappeared for six years. He finally resurfaced in Englewood where he was hired as an assistant druggist. The owner, Mrs. Dr. Holden, mysteriously disappeared and Holmes said that he had bought the drugstore when she had "moved west" with no forwarding address.

H.H. HOLMES

THE GATE

One of the most frightening places in Libertyville, Illinois is the stone structure known as "The Gate." It is off River Road near Independence Grove Forest Preserve.
Just getting to the Gate can be terrifying, River Road is desolate and secluded and you have to go down it about two miles. It is lined by the dense forest on both sides and there are no streetlights. During the summer when it is humid outside, fog comes in from the ponds shrouding the lower parts of the road. The road makes a sharp turn, continues on into the darkness, and then comes to what the residents have christened "The Gate."
The first version of the legend says that the Gate was the entrance to a girl's finishing school in the early 1950s. A quiet and polished place where young women from Chicago's well-to-do families went for a proper education. The tranquillity was devastated one night when the principal had a nervous breakdown and killed four of the students, and then put their heads on the posts of the Gate.

THE GATE

Shelby Hospital Haunted

Cleveland Memorial Hospital, Shelby NC

It really would be a story if the Shelby N.C. Hospital were not haunted. The Hospital has been there for just over 75 years now and its a fact that many people have died there over the years and anywhere that you have death associated with tragedy you will have ghosts and paranormal activity. The Shelby N.C. Hospital was first started in 1910 by Dr T.G. Hamrick and there was a new 43 bed hospital opened there in 1923. And the hospital has been growing ever since. And many of the ghost stories associated with the hospital date way back in time but some date to more modern times. The Hospitals official policy is that the hospital is not haunted and there are no such things as ghosts. However some of the staff at the hospital talked to us off the record this week and filled us in on some spooky things going on at the hospital.

Shelby Hospital Haunted

DEVIL BABY OF HULL HOUSE

Located at 800 S. Halsted St. on Chicago's Near West Side, Hull House was well known for the work of social reformer and actrivist Jane Addams. It is also known for something not as good: the Devil Baby - it is said to have been the inspiration for the 1968 movie "Rosemary's Baby."
It was built in 1856 in the "fashionable" section of the city, but soon abandoned after the Great Chicago Fire in 1871. The area attracted Italian, Greek, and Jewish immigrants. By the 1880's the neighborhood had become a tangle of crime and vice. It was soon called the "darkest corner of Chicago," the Near West Side was overrun with crooked cops and politicians. brothels, saloons, and drug dealers. Criminals from around the city looked for asylum there, attracting more thugs. It was a miserable and dangerous place, and amongst it all, the immigrants tried to make a living.

DEVIL BABY OF HULL HOUSE

ST. VALENTINE'S DAY MASSACRE

In Chicago, no other event described the bloody era of the Roaring Twenties like that of the St. Valentine's Day Massacre. It marked the end of the peak of Al Capone's Chicago mob. Not many gangland murders have stimulated as many gangland ghost stories.
It happened on February 14, 1929, in a red brick warehouse located at 2122 N. Clark St., the SMC Garage. Capone was the leader of the Italian South Side mob, Bugs Moran was the head of the Irish North Side mob. Rivalry had been going on between them since 1927, and in 1929, Moran had supposedly shot down Pasquilino Lolordo, one of Capone's gang. Capone swore he would have Moran taken out on February 14. On that morning seven men waited in the garage when a police car pulled up outside. Five men from the car went inside and a few minutes later the sound of machine guns filled the air. The five men left the building and drove away.

ST. VALENTINE'S DAY MASSACRE

GERMAN CHURCH ROAD

It was on this road that the bodies of Patricia, thirteen, and Barbara Grimes, fifteen, were found murdered.
In December of 1956 they went to the Brighton Theater, a mile away from thier home, to see a movie. They were seen in line at nine thirty p.m. and afterwards on a bus at eleven p.m.
They were supposed to be home by eleven forty-five. They never made it to their expected stop. The largest missing persons hunt ensued and reports of sightings of the girls came in from many sources.
A police switchboard operator got a call from a man who told her that he had dreamed that the bodies of the missing girls were in a park at eighty-first and Wolf. The call came from Walter Kranz, who was taken into custody after the bodies were found. He was one of many that were interrogated and released.

GERMAN CHURCH ROAD

CAVE-IN-ROCK

We're still "digging up" spirits from the cave. So far the only reports are of moaning echoing from the cave. However, it does have a nasty history of outlaws and murder.
The cave became a lair for pirates who pillaged flatboats on the river and who murdered and robbed travelers. Later it was used by thieves as a tavern and gambling house. They used whiskey, cards, and prostitutes to entice travelers in off the river, then they would beat, rob, and sometimes murder them.
It was an ideal place for their exploits. It had a partially masked entrance and a good view of the river. It is very deep and had a level floor.
In 1800 it was turned into "Wilson's Liquor Vault & House of Entertainment" with a sign along the river's edge that caught the attention of travelers by river and land. It soon became a rough spot, known for its hard cider, strong whiskey, and shameful women.

CAVE-IN-ROCK

SEVEN GATES TO HELL

Located along the back roads east of Collinsville are a series of tunnels and bridges that are called the "Seven Gates to Hell." It is unknown how they got their name, but there are many stories about them. One account says that they were used by the Ku Klux Klan as a place to hang African Americans. No records exist that the hangings ever happened, but this is one of the reasons how the bridges got their ominous name.
The most often told story is that if you drive through all the gates, you will swiftly be sent into hell. Different variations say that you need to go through the last gate at midnight to get to hell or if you park under the seventh gate with your lights off, the spirits will send the "hounds of hell" to take your soul.

SEVEN GATES TO HELL