tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-59770577156489159672024-03-12T22:09:01.016-05:00Stormy Night TalesThe dead aren't scary. It's the living you need to fear.Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.comBlogger92125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5977057715648915967.post-7287817161360577592021-04-13T17:41:00.001-05:002021-04-13T17:41:48.986-05:00The Haunting of the USS Lexington<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xa0evuElqSQ/YHYahXmog8I/AAAAAAAAKpc/EIk-_SiTTJUy1R4K4itlLASEIZKnc28TgCLcBGAsYHQ/s500/Sign.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="313" data-original-width="500" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xa0evuElqSQ/YHYahXmog8I/AAAAAAAAKpc/EIk-_SiTTJUy1R4K4itlLASEIZKnc28TgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Sign.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span>Perhaps </span>the most haunted ship in the United States is the USS Lexington (CV-16), a World War II aircraft carrier that was decommissioned in 1991 and now serves as a floating museum in Corpus Christi, Texas. Launched straight into the war against Japan in the Pacific in 1943, "The Lady Lex" as she was nicknamed, and her crew fought in 21 of the 24 major battles between 1943 and the end of the war in 1945. On four separate occasions, the Japanese announced they had sunk her after launching massive attacks against the ship, but despite battle damage, she returned each time to exact revenge. Because of this and with her hull painted in a blue camouflage scheme, the Japanese began calling her "The Blue Ghost." Having been involved in so many major battles, almost 500 sailors lost their lives while serving on the mighty ship.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span> </span>When people are suddenly killed in battle, their spirits are sometimes not ready to leave this world yet and they stay in a place that is comfortable and familiar, perhaps to continue on what they were doing before their sudden death. When people die violently, they sometimes relive the time beforehand, experiencing what they felt and thought before they died. With so much violent death, is it any wonder the "Lady Lex" is definitely considered haunted?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">In 1943, a Japanese kamikaze crashed into the engine room, causing massive damage and setting it on fire. 50 men were either killed outright or burned to death. Many visitors, most unaware of what happened in that spot, have told of hearing screams of men in pain. The screams seem to be coming from the walls. Other, luckier visitors, report having enjoyed the detailed lecture given by a nice young man in period uniform about how the engines worked to power the ship. They say he claims to be an engine room operator. But there have never been any staff or volunteer members in period uniform giving lectures in the engine room.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-atE029l9XO8/YHYa3h9YpMI/AAAAAAAAKpk/NRknOLYf0ksOiI__1k0gQT5_AwxcD_uiwCLcBGAsYHQ/s500/plane.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="267" data-original-width="500" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-atE029l9XO8/YHYa3h9YpMI/AAAAAAAAKpk/NRknOLYf0ksOiI__1k0gQT5_AwxcD_uiwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/plane.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">A Japanese bomb dropped from a dive bomber exploded in the switch room, causing numerous deaths and horrible injuries. The room has been closed to visitors because so many started to become sick and feel very uneasy and sad while in the area. One of these people was Donna LaCroix when she and television's Ghost Hunters team investigated the Lexington. They pronounced the ship to be one of the most haunted locations they had ever investigated.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Numerous guests over the years have reported getting lost within the many confusing corridors inside the ship only to be led up to the hanger bay by a friendly young man dressed in Navy dungarees named Charley. After leading them out of the maze of corridors and up the stairs, he opens a final door and tells them to "just step through here and you'll be safe." After the last person steps into the hanger bay, the group often turns to say thank you but finds he has vanished.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7h7u8JkJ2iI/YHYbCSI8xWI/AAAAAAAAKpo/Z0PIzGlMT04UuOMZKgo7DREJO2zvzWiBQCLcBGAsYHQ/s501/tower.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="501" data-original-width="330" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7h7u8JkJ2iI/YHYbCSI8xWI/AAAAAAAAKpo/Z0PIzGlMT04UuOMZKgo7DREJO2zvzWiBQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/tower.jpg" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">All of the apparitions seem to be friendly, helpful, and non-threatening with the exception of one. People who have seen him manifest say he is wearing a uniform that identifies him as a Chief Petty Officer. Although he has never harmed anyone, he is not friendly, scowling at the living and mumbling something in an unpleasant gravely voice. Of course, on a ship of this size with this many men, not all deaths were caused by combat. Sometimes if a person died from an accident caused by his own lack of attention, the entity is very angry at himself and won’t cross over, choosing to stew emotionally in this world. Ship's records from 1945 do indeed record a Chief Petty Officer who inadvertently backed up into a plane's spinning propeller which resulted in his grizzly death. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span>Security officers very often report hearing running footsteps in the hanger bay after the ship has been closed and there is nobody else there. Several years ago, an</span> officer said he didn't see anything on the security cameras and went to see what the noise was. The next day, while giving his report, he was white as a sheet when he said he witnessed "shadow figures running in chaos." When he finished his report, he handed in his resignation and has never been heard from again. One of the paranormal investigators said he thinks what the officers are seeing are sailors running for cover after the ship was hit by a torpedo in late 1943. </span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span>"</span><i><span>They're constantly doing the same thing over and over again ... maintaining the ship," he said of the ghosts he suspects roam the ship. "This was their home and they don't want to go anywhere else."</span></i></span><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-P85tWKFBuuk/YHYbJUKSUZI/AAAAAAAAKpw/Y_VzwfgHVSMn2azuoo9_jtTwlrbiZtA5ACLcBGAsYHQ/s500/bridge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="332" data-original-width="500" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-P85tWKFBuuk/YHYbJUKSUZI/AAAAAAAAKpw/Y_VzwfgHVSMn2azuoo9_jtTwlrbiZtA5ACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/bridge.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span>Hundreds of personal experiences have been reported by staff and visitors over the years that this aircraft carrier has been docked at Corpus Christi. Many have also been reported by paranormal investigators. To visit one of the most haunted ships in the world and perhaps meet Charley, the angry Chief Petty Officer, or any number of other entities, head to Corpus Christi, Texas. The ship is permanently docked just across the bay at </span>2914 North Shoreline Boulevard.</span><p></p><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: "Georgia Pro", Georgia, "Droid Serif", serif; font-size: 18px;"><br /></span></div>Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com0Corpus Christi, TX, USA27.8005828 -97.396380999999991-0.50965103617884466 -132.552631 56.110816636178846 -62.240130999999991tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5977057715648915967.post-9312636634108437012020-11-24T05:31:00.001-06:002021-04-02T09:05:09.813-05:00Haunted Arkansas Mountain<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FH92Lq55ao8/X7zsUXkG0OI/AAAAAAAAKjw/lj6CJaBEo9Q4Edt4VWUKJOXEwZ6V4llwACLcBGAsYHQ/s500/Confederate-Cemetery-gate.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="375" data-original-width="500" height="265" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FH92Lq55ao8/X7zsUXkG0OI/AAAAAAAAKjw/lj6CJaBEo9Q4Edt4VWUKJOXEwZ6V4llwACLcBGAsYHQ/w320-h265/Confederate-Cemetery-gate.jpg" title="Fayetteville Confederate Cemetery" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span><i>Fayetteville Confederate Cemetery</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana;"> On a gentle. wooded ridge of the Ozarks overlooking the town of Fayetteville, Arkansas is the Fayetteville Confederate Cemetery, the final resting place for hundreds of men who gave their lives during Civil War battles in the northwest part of the state. Officially listed as East Mountain, t</span><span style="font-family: verdana;">he locals call the ridge Ghost Mountain. </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">Not as famous as other battle sites like Gettysburg, Manassas, or Vicksburg, this was nonetheless one of the most violent and desperately contested sites of the war. </span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The men's original burial places were where they fell when after the battle, soldiers of the victorious side or civilians from the area hurriedly interred the bodies in shallow, makeshift graves trying to prevent disease and the stench of decay. In 1878, the Southern Memorial Association of Washington County established the cemetery and began the process of exhuming the bodies from the area. The Confederates were buried here and the fallen Union soldiers were interred in the Fayetteville National Cemetery.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_YTYyTlO0FM/X7ztwPwmF_I/AAAAAAAAKj8/wqxMXgyrWgIYnSiLEzZYc3b6XZpoYB4lgCLcBGAsYHQ/s500/Confederate-Cemetery-graves-2.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="375" data-original-width="500" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_YTYyTlO0FM/X7ztwPwmF_I/AAAAAAAAKj8/wqxMXgyrWgIYnSiLEzZYc3b6XZpoYB4lgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Confederate-Cemetery-graves-2.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">There are a number of homes just down the hill from the cemetery and the residents often report seeing unusual lights floating along the ridge. There are also numerous reports by residents and visitors alike of strange anomalies showing up in photographs taken within the cemetery. Even more famous though, is the legend of the Burning Bride of Ghost Hollow.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Directly across the slender dirt road from the Confederate cemetery is a much smaller cemetery, The Walker Cemetery is a family burial plot of land much smaller than its neighbor. Here lies the body of David Walker. In the 1860s, he was an Arkansas state senator, three times a state supreme court justice, one of the founders of the University of Arkansas, and served as a colonel in the Confederate army during the war. He was married to Jane Lewis Washington, a third-cousin of George Washington. Buried here next to him are his parents and a few of his close relatives. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Z4DOVF0R2ZU/X7zt6BejQXI/AAAAAAAAKkA/BpwG5pHhLBwBi8Pgc5QPPfFtld8hCabAQCLcBGAsYHQ/s500/Confederate-Cemetery-obelisk.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="381" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Z4DOVF0R2ZU/X7zt6BejQXI/AAAAAAAAKkA/BpwG5pHhLBwBi8Pgc5QPPfFtld8hCabAQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Confederate-Cemetery-obelisk.jpg" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">In 1872, Judge Walker had a large, 2-story brick house built for his daughter and her husband as a wedding present. It still stands just a little ways away from the family cemetery. Soon after the happy couple moved in though, strange things began to happen. Mostly small things, items disappearing then reappearing several days later, unexplained "moaning" noises, doors slamming closed for no reason. Then the couple became aware they could no longer find hired help. When the last housemaid quit, they inquired to learn why nobody would work for them. They learned the African-American community considered the home haunted because of a horrible accident that happened there years before. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Shortly after the Civil War ended in 1865, a man and his fiancé moved to Fayetteville from Fort Smith trying to start a new life after his hard service in the Confederate army. They constructed a small home on the </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">exact </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">same spot of land as the Walker-built house. They were married in the house one cold winter evening and after the guests left, the bride of one hour, still wearing her wedding dress, leaned over the fireplace to stir the fire. A spark popped onto her dress and set it ablaze. Running and screaming hysterically out of the house, she ran down the ridge and, having ran through the grounds which would later become the Walker and Confederate cemeteries, she fell down and died in agony. </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">From that day on, there have been reports of people seeing her apparition running through both cemeteries and hearing her screams as she over and over, relives her tragic wedding night.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Unfortunately, more tragedy plagued Ghost Mountain. In 1932, a family lived in a small log cabin located near the cemeteries. One night, the husband came home very drunk to his wife who was caring for a sick infant. The baby cried incessantly no matter what the mother tried and the husband, incensed that he couldn't sleep because of it, suddenly grabbed the baby, stumbled outside and threw the baby down the water well. The wife went into hysterics, grabbed the well rope and jumped into the well to save the child. The drunken father picked up a nearby ax and chopped the rope, leaving his wife and child in the well to die. It was several days later when his employer came to investigate why he had not been to work. Seeing the dangling, chopped well rope, he looked down and saw in the dim light, the floating bodies. It is assumed the husband fled the area as he has never been found. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Some say the stories are just myths, there's nothing strange about East Mountain. Others insist the stories are not myths. One thing that is for certain, to this day, the stories remain a source of fear for those living on and around </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">Ghost Mountain.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p>Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com3Fayetteville, AR, USA36.082156 -94.1718542000000137.7719221638211522 -129.3281042 64.392389836178836 -59.015604200000013tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5977057715648915967.post-21798341997207963692020-09-11T17:36:00.001-05:002021-04-02T09:08:32.865-05:00What Happened to the Children?<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Fayetteville, West Virginia was a small, quiet town on Christmas Eve, 1945. On that night however, it would be the site of a tragic mystery, a mystery that still has not been solved. The night before Christmas, </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">George and Jennie Sodder and nine of their 10 children went to sleep in their 2-story home (one son was away in the Army) looking forward to the next day when there would be gifts given and plenty of good food eaten. Around 1 a.m. though, a fire broke out. George, Jennie and four of their children escaped, but the other five were never seen again.</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Y66Z52iOSGY/X1vwUvy5kvI/AAAAAAAAKhg/zBYbGV6bLJY0GZFVvMFm95t7AAKfrcVBwCLcBGAsYHQ/s525/sodderkids-post.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="The 5 missing children (historical photo)" border="0" data-original-height="115" data-original-width="525" height="70" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Y66Z52iOSGY/X1vwUvy5kvI/AAAAAAAAKhg/zBYbGV6bLJY0GZFVvMFm95t7AAKfrcVBwCLcBGAsYHQ/w320-h70/sodderkids-post.jpg" title="The 5 missing children (historical photo)" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">The 5 missing children</span></i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">George Sodder was born Giorgio Soddu in Tula, Sardinia in 1895, and immigrated to the United States in 1908. He found work on the Pennsylvania railroads, carrying water and supplies to the laborers, and after a few years moved to Smithers, West Virginia. Smart and ambitious, he worked as a truck driver until he had saved enough to launch his own successful trucking company. One day he walked into a local store and met Jennie Cipriani, who had come over from Italy when she was 3.</span></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y1mfO9StrZg/X1vw9w4u-sI/AAAAAAAAKho/V-NzDxLrVMopLt9m7VLae8ig6F_zQ0VGgCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/Jennie-post.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="392" data-original-width="400" height="196" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y1mfO9StrZg/X1vw9w4u-sI/AAAAAAAAKho/V-NzDxLrVMopLt9m7VLae8ig6F_zQ0VGgCLcBGAsYHQ/w200-h196/Jennie-post.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Jennie Sodder</span></i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">They fell in love and soon married. Between 1923 and 1943, they had 10 children and settled in Fayetteville, an Appalachian town with a small but active Italian immigrant community. The Sodders became one of the most respected middle-class families in the area. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">George held strong opinions about business, current events, and politics, and did not hesitate to make his opinions known. In April 1945, communist partisans had killed fascist dictator Benito Mussolini, which left the Italians in Fayetteville highly divided. Supporters of Mussolini were outraged. George held strong antifascist views about Mussolini and had engendered bitter distrust amongst those of his fellow Italian immigrants who had loved the Italian leader. In the weeks before the fire, a few strange encounters took place. An unknown man approached George while at his home looking for hauling work. After telling the man that he didn't need any workers, the man looked over at the fuse box on the outside wall of the house and said, "That's going to cause a fire someday." Although very odd, George dismissed the comment since he had just had the whole house upgraded and rewired before adding new appliances and the power supply company had checked the work and everything had passed inspection.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">A week before the fire, a salesman had tried to sell life insurance to George and Jennie. When they refused, the salesman got very upset and as he walked away, turned back and shouted, "Your goddamn house is going up in smoke and your children are going to be destroyed! You, Mr. Sodder, are going to be paid for the dirty remarks you have been making about Mussolini."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">A few days before the fire, John (at 23, the oldest son at home) saw a suspicious car parked along Highway 21 for several days in a row. An unknown man inside the car seemed to be watching the younger Sodder children closely as they returned home from school.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The afternoon before the fire, the oldest daughter, Marion, had brought home some toys from the dime-store where she worked and gave them to the younger kids as small Christmas Eve gifts. At 10:30, George and Jennie went to their bedroom, carrying 3-year-old Sylvia with them. Jennie allowed the other children to stay up to play with their new toys for a while but reminded them that before they went to bed, they had to shut the chicken coop, feed the cows, close all the window shades, lock the doors and turn out the lights. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Around 12:30 Christmas morning, the jangling ring of the telephone broke the quiet night. Jennie got out of bed and walked into the hallway to answer it. An unfamiliar female voice asked for an unfamiliar name. There was loud laughter and glasses clinking in the background. Jennie said, “You have the wrong number,” and heard the woman laughing before she hung up. As she was going back to bed, she noted that all of the downstairs lights were still on, the curtains were open, and the front door was unlocked. She saw Marion asleep on the sofa in the living room and assumed that the other kids were upstairs in bed. She turned out the lights, closed the curtains, locked the door, and returned to her room. A few minutes later, she had just begun to fall back asleep when she heard a loud bang on the roof and then a rolling noise. She wondered about it for a few seconds, but not hearing anything else, she fell back asleep. About an hour later though, she was roused once again, this time by heavy smoke billowing into her room.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">George grabbed baby Sylvia in his arms and shouted for everyone to get up and get out of the house. With Jennie, they ran to the living room and pulled Marion outside. John and George also managed to escape from the burning house with singed hair, but there were still five children unaccounted for. George ran back into the house and called upstairs, but there was no answer. He started to run up the stairs, but by then, the fire had engulfed the stairway and upper landing. While her husband was frantically trying to get to the children, Jennie ran back inside to the phone to call the fire department. It wouldn't work though and the heat forced her back out. She then sent Marion to a neighbor's house to call the fire department.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Running back outside, </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">George tried to save them by breaking a window to re-enter the house, slicing a large chunk of flesh from his arm. He could see nothing through the smoke and fire, which by now had swept through all of the downstairs rooms: living and dining room, kitchen, office, and his and Jennie’s bedroom. He figured Maurice, Martha, Louis, Jennie, and Betty still had to be upstairs, cowering in two bedrooms on either end of the hallway, separated by a staircase that was now engulfed in flames.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">He raced around to the other side of the house, hoping to reach them through the upstairs windows, but the ladder he always kept propped against the house was missing (it was later found lying in a drainage ditch 50 yards from the house). He then tried to drive one of his two coal trucks up to the house and climb atop it to reach the windows. But even though they’d functioned perfectly the day before, neither would start now. He tried to scoop water from a rain barrel but it was frozen solid. Five of his children were stuck somewhere inside the flaming fire and he couldn't do a thing about it.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">When Marion arrived at the neighbor's home, she tried to call the Fayetteville Fire Department but couldn’t get any operator response. A neighbor who saw the blaze made a call from a nearby tavern, but again no operator responded. Frustrated, the neighbor drove into town and tracked down Fire Chief F.J. Morris, who initiated Fayetteville’s version of a fire alarm: a “phone tree” system where one firefighter phoned another, who phoned another. The fire department was only two and a half miles away but the crew didn’t arrive until 8 a.m., by which point the Sodders’ home had been reduced to nothing more than a smoking pile of ash.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ikZeoppWLVk/X1vyhfm8tcI/AAAAAAAAKh0/pHLsNYjfn5U72uu1LMEN_EB6EzvWf8RWwCLcBGAsYHQ/s525/memorial-site-post.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="292" data-original-width="525" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ikZeoppWLVk/X1vyhfm8tcI/AAAAAAAAKh0/pHLsNYjfn5U72uu1LMEN_EB6EzvWf8RWwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/memorial-site-post.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Memorial to the 5 children<br />at the site of the fire</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana;">George and Jeannie assumed that five of their children were dead, but a brief search of the grounds on Christmas Day turned up no trace of remains. Chief Morris suggested the blaze had been hot enough to completely cremate the bodies. A state police inspector combed the rubble and attributed the fire to faulty wiring. Five days later, George covered the basement with five feet of dirt, intending to preserve the site as a memorial to the dead children. The coroner’s office issued five death certificates just before the new year, attributing the causes to “fire or suffocation.”</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">But soon, the Sodders began to wonder if their children were still alive.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The Sodders planted flowers across the space where their house had stood and began to stitch together those odd happenings leading up to the fire. </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">Jennie couldn’t understand how five children could perish in a fire and leave no bones or any trace of anything. She conducted experiments, burning animal bones, chicken bones, beef joints, pork chop bones, to see if the fire consumed them. Each time she was left with a heap of charred bones. Remnants of various household items had been found in the burned-out basement, still identifiable. It is totally implausible that a fire that left identifiable household items would leave no trace of five children. An employee at a crematorium informed her that bones remain after bodies are burned for two hours at 2,000 degrees. Their house was destroyed in 45 minutes.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">They wondered about the telephone not working when Jennie tried to call the fire department. They hired a telephone repairman to investigate and he told the Sodders their lines appeared to have been cut, not burned. They realized that if the fire had been electrical—the result of “faulty wiring,” as the official reported stated—then the power would have been dead, so how to explain the lighted downstairs rooms? A day after the fire, a man came forward claiming he saw some man at the fire scene taking a block and tackle used for removing car engines; could he be the reason George’s trucks refused to start? One day, while the family was visiting the site, Sylvia found a hard rubber object in the yard. Jennie recalled hearing the hard thud on the roof, the rolling sound. George concluded it was a napalm bomb of the type used in warfare.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oahpbKrnOjU/X1v0jIaGX_I/AAAAAAAAKiI/OrDZixoph2cxSmg7aCu4IUuA1mreP5TPQCLcBGAsYHQ/s525/flyer-post.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="525" data-original-width="345" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oahpbKrnOjU/X1v0jIaGX_I/AAAAAAAAKiI/OrDZixoph2cxSmg7aCu4IUuA1mreP5TPQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/flyer-post.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Flyer posted offering a <br />reward for information</i></span><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana;">Several days later, after the sad story of the five dead children on Christmas Day appeared in the papers, the reports of sightings began. A woman claimed to have seen the missing children peering from a passing car while the fire was burning. A woman operating a tourist stop 50 miles west of Fayetteville said she saw the children the morning after the fire. “I served them breakfast,” she told police. “There was a car with Florida license plates at the tourist court, too.” A woman at a Charleston hotel who saw the children's photo's in the paper said she had seen four of the five a week after the fire. “The children were accompanied by two women and two men, all of Italian extraction,” she said in a statement. “I do not remember the exact date. However, the entire party did register at the hotel and stayed in a large room with several beds. They registered about midnight. I tried to talk to the children in a friendly manner, but the men appeared hostile and refused to allow me to talk to these children…. One of the men looked at me in a hostile manner; he turned around and began talking rapidly in Italian. Immediately, the whole party stopped talking to me. I sensed that I was being frozen out and so I said nothing more. They left early the next morning.”</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">In 1947, George and Jennie sent a letter about the case to the Federal Bureau of Investigation and received a reply from J. Edgar Hoover: “Although I would like to be of service, the matter related appears to be of local character and does not come within the investigative jurisdiction of this bureau.” Hoover’s agents said they would assist if they could get permission from the local authorities, but the Fayetteville police and fire departments refused the offer, saying they did not need the help.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The Sodders then turned to a private investigator, C.C. Tinsley, who discovered that the insurance salesman who had threatened George was a member of the coroner’s jury that deemed the fire accidental. Other than that news, Mr. Tinsley was unable to find any other details.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Over the next few years, the tips and leads continued to come in. George saw a newspaper photo of schoolchildren in New York City and was convinced that one of them was his daughter Betty. He drove to Manhattan in search of the child, but her parents refused to speak to him or let him see their daughter. They threatened to call the police if he didn't leave them alone. In August 1949, the Sodders brought in a Washington, D.C. pathologist named Oscar B. Hunter and had him thoroughly exam the site of their burned house. The excavation was thorough, uncovering several small objects: damaged coins, a partly burned dictionary and several shards of vertebrae. Hunter sent the bones to the Smithsonian Institution, which issued the following report:</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">"<i>The human bones consist of four lumbar vertebrae belonging to one individual. Since the transverse recesses are fused, the age of this individual at death should have been 16 or 17 years. The top limit of age should be about 22 since the centra, which normally fuse at 23, are still unfused. On this basis, the bones show greater skeletal maturation than one could expect for a 14-year-old boy (the oldest missing Sodder child).</i>"</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The report also said the vertebrae showed no evidence of exposure to fire and “<i>it is very strange that no other bones were found in the allegedly careful evacuation of the basement of the house.</i>” Noting that the house reportedly burned for only about half an hour or so, it said that “<i>one would expect to find the full skeletons of the five children, rather than only four vertebrae.</i>” The bones, the report concluded, must have been in the supply of dirt George used to fill in the basement to create the memorial for his children. Several months later, the bones were identified as belonging to a 22-year-old man whose grave several miles away had been opened by graverobbers looking for an expensive watch and ring the young man was rumored to have been buried with.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VQvAd-BjIJ8/X1v0EtOn9ZI/AAAAAAAAKiA/L9D7f7aS9pIaLrdI8hUB-Jzhbi5Yg-imQCLcBGAsYHQ/s525/sodder-sign-post.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="308" data-original-width="525" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VQvAd-BjIJ8/X1v0EtOn9ZI/AAAAAAAAKiA/L9D7f7aS9pIaLrdI8hUB-Jzhbi5Yg-imQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/sodder-sign-post.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>George & Jennie in front of the <br />billboard they erected</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana;">After the governor and the State Police Superintendent declared the case closed, George and Jennie erected a billboard along Route 16 and passed out flyers offering a $5,000 reward for information leading to the recovery of their children. When nothing came of it, they increased the amount to $10,000. A letter arrived from a woman in St. Louis saying the oldest girl, Martha, was in a convent there. Another tip came from Texas, where a patron in a bar overheard an incriminating conversation about a long-ago Christmas Eve fire in West Virginia. Someone in Florida claimed the children were staying with a distant relative of Jennie’s. George traveled the country to investigate each and every lead, always returning home without any answers.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">In 1968, 23 years after the fire, Jennie found an envelope in the mailbox addressed only to her. It was postmarked in Kentucky but had no return address. Inside was a photo of a man in his mid-20s. On the back was a strange handwritten note which read: “Louis Sodder. I love brother Frankie. Ilil Boys. A90132 or 35.” She and George were astonished at the resemblance to their Louis, who was 9 at the time of the fire. Beyond the obvious similarities—dark curly hair, dark brown eyes—they both had the same straight, strong nose and the same upward tilt of the left eyebrow. They immediately hired a private detective and sent him to Kentucky. They never heard from him again.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Just before he died in 1968, George told a reporter, “<i>Time is running out for us, but we only want to know. If they did die in the fire, we want to be convinced. Otherwise, we want to know what happened to them</i>.” </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">He died still hoping for a break in the case. Jennie erected a high privacy fence around her property and began adding rooms to her home, building layer after layer between her and the outside. Since the night of the fire, she only wore black clothing in a sign of mourning. She continued to do so until her own death in 1989. The billboard finally came down several years later. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Her surviving children and grandchildren continued the investigation and came up with theories of their own: perhaps the local mafia had tried to recruit George and he declined. They tried to extort money from him and he refused. The children were kidnapped by someone they knew—someone who burst into the unlocked front door, told them about the fire and offered to take them someplace safe. They might not have survived the night. If they had and if they lived for decades, if it really was Louis in that photograph, they failed to contact their parents only because they wanted to protect them.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">George and Jennie swore they would look for their missing children until they both died. And so they did. Several years after the fire, the FBI finally began a federal investigation but closed the case after 2 years with no additional information being found. As of this writing, the daughter of Marion still hopes the case can be solved. A large group of internet sleuths continues to investigate, but even they say this might be one that will never be solved and nobody will ever know for sure just what really happened to the children.</span></p></span>Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com0Fayetteville, WV 25840, USA38.0528884 -81.10399119.7442074281146773 -116.25820798556671 66.361569371885324 -45.94977421443329tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5977057715648915967.post-85943508734891462522020-09-04T11:26:00.001-05:002020-09-04T11:26:44.743-05:00The Goliad Ghosts<span style="font-family: verdana;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZUSFLzHUgpU/X1JiBwMbiiI/AAAAAAAAKgw/ZHfCOkHPLggKRgpaJX6E72GY3Ubs-mP5wCLcBGAsYHQ/s550/Presidio-bw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="368" data-original-width="550" height="214" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZUSFLzHUgpU/X1JiBwMbiiI/AAAAAAAAKgw/ZHfCOkHPLggKRgpaJX6E72GY3Ubs-mP5wCLcBGAsYHQ/w320-h214/Presidio-bw.jpg" title="The Presidio" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>The Presidio in Goliad</i></span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>After the fall of the Alamo in San Antonio, Texas in 1836, the victorious Mexican forces continued to march east toward the Presidio in Goliad where Colonel James Fannin commanded 400 Texas men. The Texans were ordered to move to Victoria, a more defendable position on the other side of the Guadalupe River. During the move though they ran into the main body of the Mexican troops while crossing an open prairie. </div></span><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">After fending off four separate attacks on the first day, the Texans spent that night digging trenches. In the morning, however, they found they were now totally surrounded by the enemy. Almost out of ammunition, Fannin asked for a parley to prevent his troops from being massacred. General Urrea, commander of the Mexican forces, promised the Texans would be treated as prisoners of war and given clemency. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Upon surrender, the Texans were marched back to the Presidio at Goliad and placed under the watchful eyes of Nicolas de la Portilla and his detachment of men while Urrea and his remaining troops continued their march south. However, Santa Anna, the president of Mexico, was determined to fight a war of extermination and ordered Portilla to execute the prisoners. Having conflicting orders from General Urrea and General Santa Anna, Portilla chose to follow Santa Anna's orders.</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lijSe8UeFWs/X1JigeS7twI/AAAAAAAAKg4/o8vgwGaOZgsd6lOh5LKsq-Uwfn_vYibGACLcBGAsYHQ/s550/inside-the-walls-bw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="349" data-original-width="550" height="203" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lijSe8UeFWs/X1JigeS7twI/AAAAAAAAKg4/o8vgwGaOZgsd6lOh5LKsq-Uwfn_vYibGACLcBGAsYHQ/w320-h203/inside-the-walls-bw.jpg" title="Inside the walls of the Presidio" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Inside the walls of the Presidio where the<br />wounded were killed</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table>On March 27, the prisoners were divided into quarters. While the sick and wounded remained in the chapel, the other three groups were escorted on different roads out of town. The three groups were told they were on missions to gather wood, drive cattle or sail to safety in New Orleans. When they were ordered to halt a half-mile from the fort, however, the Texans realized their fates. The Mexican guards opened fire as some of the men began running for their lives. Those not killed by gunshots were slaughtered with bayonets.</span><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;">Back at the presidio, the Mexicans stood the wounded against the chapel wall and executed them. The wounded who couldn't stand were shot in their beds. Fannin, who had been shot in the thigh during the original engagement, was the last to be killed. His three dying wishes were to be shot in the chest, given a Christian burial, and have his watch sent to his family. Instead, Portilla shot Fannin in the face, burned his body with the others, and kept the timepiece as a war prize. In all, nearly 350 men were killed at Goliad.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Today, almost 185 years later, the old presidio and its adjacent Chapel of our Lady of Loreto still stand. Given the horrific events that happened within and around the site, is it any wonder the walls sometimes echo with the mournful sounds of spirits returning from that troubled and turbulent time? </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Visitors often report feeling "cold spots" and uneasy feelings as they walk around the grounds where Fannin and his men were executed. In 1992, a man named Jim reported strange goings-on. As a former deputy sheriff and a security guard for a number of years, Jim was not a man easily frightened or prone to make up wild stories. Hired for a few nights to watch over some equipment at the presidio that was to be used for the Cattle Baron's Ball, he expected quiet routine nights. On his first night though, just before midnight, the silence was broken by the "eerie, shrill cries of nearly a dozen terrified infants." He swore the sounds indicated "pain and suffering." Although understandably frightened, he tried to find where the sounds were coming from. After several long minutes, he finally determined they were coming from one of the dozen or so unmarked graves that are located near the Chapel of Our Lady of Loreto.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">As he shined his flashlight on the spot, the cries abruptly stopped but were immediately replaced by the singing of a women's choir. It sounded like it was coming from the back wall of the old fort, but the beam of his flashlight revealed nothing there. After two or three minutes, the singing stopped and silence returned for the rest of the night. When Jim reported his experience, he was teased by his co-workers, but he is convinced what he saw and heard was real and besides, he is not the only person to report strange things in and around the presidio.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-31TzthiIfEw/X1JpJMLML7I/AAAAAAAAKhE/GFBmolv_bwcJXtI0NTh0T7Xhxbj8qXD_QCLcBGAsYHQ/s550/chapel-bw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="550" data-original-width="365" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-31TzthiIfEw/X1JpJMLML7I/AAAAAAAAKhE/GFBmolv_bwcJXtI0NTh0T7Xhxbj8qXD_QCLcBGAsYHQ/w212-h320/chapel-bw.jpg" title="The chapel" width="212" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>The chapel</i></span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>Numerous people have reported seeing a strange, 4-foot-tall friar who suddenly appears by the double doors leading into the chapel. His robes are black, tied around his waist with a rope and his face is concealed with a hood. He then walks barefooted to each corner of the church and seems to bless it before walking to the center of the quadrangle and begins to pray in Latin. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">A woman in a white dress has been reported kneeling and crying by the graves of the children. When seen, she then turns and looks directly at the person before gliding over to a wall and vanishing. A beautiful soprano voice is often heard emanating from one particular room, but upon investigation, there is nobody in the small space. Visitors who stay late often come back from the fort and comment to the staff about the historical reenactors even though there are no reenactors on the property that day. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eoyX4xFh72o/X1JpkXn0I4I/AAAAAAAAKhM/ARuS-VxDR4o4aJK80OnVTiTDWc6zwWa4ACLcBGAsYHQ/s550/chapel-cross-bw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="362" data-original-width="550" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eoyX4xFh72o/X1JpkXn0I4I/AAAAAAAAKhM/ARuS-VxDR4o4aJK80OnVTiTDWc6zwWa4ACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/chapel-cross-bw.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>It seems there are many restless spirits here. Who are the crying babies? Are they the little lost souls of pioneer infants killed by Indians in a raid or was there an epidemic that took their too-short lives. The woman in white - is her own child buried in one of the unmarked graves? Why does the short friar keep returning? Is his soul in turmoil over so many brave men who were brutally executed? Whose souls are eternally singing beautiful hymns in a choir, unable to leave this chapel? Caught in a timeless web, so many lost souls searching, sorrowing, singing, praying, unable to let go of the life they briefly lived in a little town named Goliad.</span></div></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div></div>Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com0Goliad, TX 77963, USA28.6683252 -97.3883264999999910.35809136382115625 -132.5445765 56.978559036178851 -62.232076499999991tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5977057715648915967.post-24717969783116816212020-05-12T08:21:00.002-05:002021-04-02T09:10:44.729-05:00An American Vampire<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0aLyb3L2q9s/XrqhiKk9sII/AAAAAAAAKbo/BvxVPav1Y_UyTnN3x9i5W45kpIocxpgagCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/headstone.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="273" data-original-width="372" height="234" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0aLyb3L2q9s/XrqhiKk9sII/AAAAAAAAKbo/BvxVPav1Y_UyTnN3x9i5W45kpIocxpgagCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/headstone.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Mercy Brown's headstone</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face="Trebuchet MS, sans-serif">Mercy Lena Brown, perhaps America's most famous vampire, lies in her grave within the quiet, rural Chestnut Hill Cemetery in Exeter, Rhode Island. Her tragic tale is the best-documented case in America of the exhumation of a corpse in order to perform rituals to banish an undead manifestation.</span><br />
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<span face="Trebuchet MS, sans-serif">In 1886, Mercy's mother, Mary Eliza, died of tuberculosis, a devastating and much-feared disease called "consumption" at that time. Mary's oldest daughter, Mary Olive, died of the same disease in 1888. In 1891, both Mercy and her brother, Edwin, became sick with "consumption." In accordance with superstitious beliefs, multiple deaths within an individual family in a relatively short time was due to undead activity. This was particularly true of tuberculosis since a common symptom of the disease is significant weight loss, giving the impression that life was slowly being sucked out of the patient. It was thought the undead were desperate to live again thus they drained the life out of their loved ones. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YbKWlhK-t0c/XrqhtW0nf3I/AAAAAAAAKbs/QcEaqL6qYxETtQV2l4pZ735pvFcmiSGfgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/crypt.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="250" data-original-width="361" height="221" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YbKWlhK-t0c/XrqhtW0nf3I/AAAAAAAAKbs/QcEaqL6qYxETtQV2l4pZ735pvFcmiSGfgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/crypt.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">The crypt where Mercy's body was kept</span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face="Trebuchet MS, sans-serif">Mercy died on January 17, 1892, just 19 years old. Due to the ground being frozen in the middle of winter, her body was stored in an above-ground crypt until it was possible to give her a proper burial when the ground thawed. Family members, nearby villagers and the local doctor and priest pressured Mary's father, George, to allow the exhumation of Mary Eliza and Mary Olive and to open Mercy's coffin as they believed one of them must be a vampire and was the cause of Edwin's continued illness. </span><br />
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<span face="Trebuchet MS, sans-serif">On March 17, two months after Mercy's death, two coffins were pried from the frozen ground. The bodies of Mary Eliza and Mary Olive both showed the expected levels of decomposition, but when the coffin of Mercy was opened, the body exhibited almost no decay and, in fact, looked exactly as she had the day she died. After being thawed near a fire, further examination showed liquid blood to be in her heart. Her lack of decomposition was no doubt due to her body being solidly frozen during the two months it had been stored in the crypt, but this was not understood at that time so it was taken as a sure sign that Mercy was undead and the agent for Edwin's illness.</span><br />
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<span face="Trebuchet MS, sans-serif">As the superstitious beliefs dictated, Mercy's heart and liver were cut from her body, thoroughly burned and the ashes mixed with water. What remained of her body was then desecrated and placed back in her coffin lying face down. Edwin was made to drink the tonic in an effort to cure his illness and stop the influence of the undead. It didn't work. Edwin died two months later. Eventually, poor Mercy was buried where she now lies.</span><br />
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</span><span face="Trebuchet MS, sans-serif"><span style="font-family: verdana;">This unfortunate incident became known to Bram Stoker, the author of the novel <i>Dracula</i>. He based the novel's character Lucy Westenra on Mercy. It is also referred to in H. P. Lovecraft's <i>The Shunned House</i>. Today, visitors to Mercy's grave frequently leave hand-written notes, little trinkets, and plastic vampire teeth. Cemetery workers periodically remove them, only to have them re-stocked by later sightseers and curious visitors.</span></span><br />
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Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com2Exeter, RI, USA41.5750676 -71.535147641.384939599999996 -71.8578711 41.7651956 -71.2124241tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5977057715648915967.post-80237059087557949302020-05-01T12:32:00.002-05:002021-04-02T09:12:01.466-05:00The Digitized Man<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iR3Qjn71M6A/XqxcEgvIK3I/AAAAAAAAKaU/e6fURu5LRDg85nwhaaSKmCY89Hzhv9jwgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/j%2Bjernigan.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="302" data-original-width="178" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iR3Qjn71M6A/XqxcEgvIK3I/AAAAAAAAKaU/e6fURu5LRDg85nwhaaSKmCY89Hzhv9jwgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/j%2Bjernigan.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Joseph Jernigan's arrest photo</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">On August 5, 1993, a few minutes past midnight, Joseph Paul Jernigan lay strapped down on a gurney in the execution chamber of the Huntsville State Prison in Texas. Ten years ago, he had been convicted of murder and sentenced to die. All of his appeals had been denied and he knew he would soon be dead. </span><br />
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">Before the deadly needle was pushed into his arm, he confessed that he was indeed guilty of the vicious murder of a 75-year-old man. While he and an accomplice were in the process of stealing a microwave oven, the homeowner unexpectedly returned. Even though the old, infirm gentleman offered no danger to the thieves, Jernigan, afraid he would identify them, repeatedly beat him in the head with a heavy ashtray, then stabbed him multiple times in the heart with a butcher knife he found in the kitchen and then blew a large hole in his chest with a shotgun blast.</span><br />
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">Like most condemned prisoners, Jernigan found religion as his death date drew near. A priest convinced him to repay society by donating his body to science. As he lay on the gurney, he had no idea what was to become of his donated corpse, but at that very moment, a team of researchers was eagerly waiting.</span><br />
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">After execution, his body was prepared for travel, air freighted to a lab in Colorado (postage, $201.88) and exactly 8 hours later, became the property of The Center for Human Simulation. The goal of the organization was to digitize an entire cadaver into a versatile, medically accurate, three-dimensional model of human anatomy. Joseph Paul Jernigan would become the new definition of man.</span><br /></span>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-w08Vi3GgOT0/XqxZN7d2GhI/AAAAAAAAKaA/Ag1LVL9M2qw_lelMkKwLBNHbp2bZCNLVgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/thorax.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="218" data-original-width="440" height="158" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-w08Vi3GgOT0/XqxZN7d2GhI/AAAAAAAAKaA/Ag1LVL9M2qw_lelMkKwLBNHbp2bZCNLVgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/thorax.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px; text-align: center;"><i>Jernigan's thorax</i></td></tr>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms", sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana;">Sparing you the very gross process it took to render, the whole of Jernigan's body (except for a missing appendix and one testicle) was cut into pieces and then eventually sliced into thousands of individual slices thinner than a piece of pre-wrapped cheese. It took 9 months to complete. Each slice was then photographed and subjected to CT and MRI scans. </span><div>
<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face="trebuchet ms, sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">Once this process was completed, he was reconstituted into 15 gigabytes of data and made available on the internet. Once there, the convicted murderer was reincarnated into the Visible Human, an interactive model that can be explored by anyone with a web browser. </span></span><br />
<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">Joseph Paul Jernigan now lives on via computers all over the world and anyone who cares to, can enjoy fly-throughs of his body - his bones, his brain, his heart, and even his one testicle. Few, however, know they are actually looking at a convicted murderer.</span></span><br />
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Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5977057715648915967.post-3622127941120596182020-04-25T18:51:00.001-05:002021-04-02T09:12:52.647-05:00Anna and the Sailor<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nnS41vVfRTI/XqNfPU8SFBI/AAAAAAAAKZs/2LmGpAT4l1cx4kY4cF5QioRqog7flsp5QCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Creepy-girl.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="393" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nnS41vVfRTI/XqNfPU8SFBI/AAAAAAAAKZs/2LmGpAT4l1cx4kY4cF5QioRqog7flsp5QCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Creepy-girl.jpg" width="235" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">Savannah, Georgia is often called "The Jewel of the South" and its rich history is filled with as much tragedy as glory. Many of its buildings have a reputation for being haunted by specters, some of them are even known by name. Anna Power is one of these poor souls perhaps destined to remain chained to a particular place forever. That place is known as the 17 Hundred 90 Inn.</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">The inn was originally built in 1790 as a boardinghouse. Savannah was a popular fishing and shipping port with a rowdy reputation. This made it a popular hangout for sailors, pirates, thieves, and lonesome people looking for companionship. Anna Power was a young woman, just 17 years old, but she was known for enjoying the rough and rowdy life in the saloons by the port. She lived with her very religious parents in a respectable part of town, but the neighbors began openly discussing Anna's loose ways and questionable morality. Her family felt she was a disgrace and when she turned up pregnant, they kicked her out of the house.</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">Anna came to the boarding house to live with the hard-drinking sailor she had lain with. The sailor she thought was her true love told her he was not ready to settle down with a wife and a baby. No amount of pleading, begging, or crying changed his mind. He had other plans and they did not include Anna and a baby. He signed on as a crewman on a ship leaving on the evening's high tide, told Anna he would not be coming back and left her there in the little room in the boarding house. Anna watch her lover's ship as it sailed away from the harbor and as it disappeared over the horizon, dark despair enveloped her. She threw herself out of the window and ended her suffering.</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">However, that wasn't end of Anna Power. Shortly thereafter, the next man who rented the same room told of how he was awakened from a dead sleep in the middle of the night by fingers caressing his face and a hand tugging at his blanket. He lit a lamp beside the bed only to find nobody in bed with him. He looked around the room in confusion and saw a thin streak of mist by the window. Before his astonished eyes, the mist turned into the shape of a young woman who looked at him for a second before jumping out of the window.</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"> Eerie occurrences have continued in the room since. And not just in that room either. Anna has been seen roaming the halls, often playfully coming up behind guests and giving their hair a little tug and then, with a fading giggle, vanishing as they turn around. Guests and staff have told of flickering lights and mysterious footsteps. Sadly, an unseen baby crying at the top of the stairs seems to be Anna's unborn child. </span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">As recently as 2013, a gentleman reported he and his wife got into an argument while staying in "Anna's" room. The argument became so heated the wife banished her husband to sleep on the small couch in the room. Fast asleep, he was awakened by his wife whom evidently wanted to kiss and make up. The next morning, he arose from the couch and thanked her for being so understanding and for the wonderful intimate time she had given him. His wife simply glared at him in angry confusion and asked him what he was talking about. The man swore the encounter wasn't a dream.</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">Over the years, Anna has proven to have a sense of humor. While guests are away from their rooms, she sometimes locks doors - from the inside. She evidently also likes to steal things. Numerous times guests have come to the front desk to complain of someone stealing their wallets or keys only to be astonished when upon returning to their room, the missing item has reappeared sitting in plain sight on a table top. One thing Anna seems to enjoy stealing the most is underwear, especially women's. Nobody's unmentionables are safe as dozens of guest have told of their missing personal garments. Bewilderingly, most of the purloined panties are later found, often after the guests have abruptly left, in planter boxes around the inn.</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">There's really no rhyme or reason for Anna's appearances. She simply seems to come and go as she pleases. Most of the fun happens in what is now Room 204, the room where Anna lived and loved. If you happen to be lucky enough to book this room, be sure to watch your undies.</span></span><br />
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Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5977057715648915967.post-2507819912250936252020-04-17T15:24:00.002-05:002021-04-02T09:13:24.059-05:00Grave with a View<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VCCD18auwUM/XpoPG9SDo6I/AAAAAAAAKYE/v-Bll5JDysYMjxnkIYuYs6ychfh0WuGfACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/335ca3e8bee8084e47eebccdad57438f.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="705" data-original-width="472" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VCCD18auwUM/XpoPG9SDo6I/AAAAAAAAKYE/v-Bll5JDysYMjxnkIYuYs6ychfh0WuGfACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/335ca3e8bee8084e47eebccdad57438f.jpg" width="214" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face="Trebuchet MS, sans-serif">At the Evergreen Cemetery in New Haven, Vermont, there is a mound of earth that at first glance seems to be just a landscaping error. If you make your way to the top of the mound though, you will see a small window embedded in the ground. Brush the dirt and leaves away from that window and you will be staring face-to-face with a dead man.</span><br />
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<span face="Trebuchet MS, sans-serif">In the late 1800s, Timothy Clark Smith was a world traveler with the U.S. Foreign Service. During his long career, he saw many hideous things and heard stories of terrible things some unlucky souls endured. Several of those stories were of people being buried alive. During those pre-embalming days, it wasn't as rare as you may think. Because of this, he developed a terrible fear of suffering the same fate. </span><br />
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<span face="Trebuchet MS, sans-serif">On Halloween night in 1893, Mr. Smith suddenly died in Middlebury, Vermont of unknown reasons. His corpse was transported to New Haven's Evergreen Cemetery for burial. There, a special grave had been prepared for him. In that strange mound of earth, Mr. Smith was buried with his face positioned beneath a cement tube that led to the surface. The tube was covered with a 14x14 inch of plate glass. In the corpse's hand they placed a bell that he could ring should he wake up and find himself the victim of a premature burial. </span><br />
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<span face="Trebuchet MS, sans-serif">If you visit the cemetery, keep very quiet... and listen.</span></span><br />
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Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com2New Haven, VT, USA44.124327699999988 -73.153571343.941916199999987 -73.476294799999991 44.306739199999988 -72.8308478tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5977057715648915967.post-18245487467002967432019-10-30T14:30:00.001-05:002021-04-02T09:18:21.812-05:00Partners Forever<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: small;"><i>The Texas Panhandle plains somewhere </i></span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: small;"><i>close to where this story took place.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">I heard a story, a disturbing story, of two men, buffalo hunting partners, who lived in what is now Dickens County, Texas in the mid-1860s. They stumbled across a spring that trickled out cool, clear water in a little grove of hardy mesquite trees in the lonely land a few miles east of the city we know as Lubbock. Other than this little patch of land, the area was an unforgiving, gritty vast nothingness of almost constant wind - the kind of place that by night, becomes a domain where the wolf cries to the moon and restless ghosts stalk the harsh, lonely dark. </span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">Here, Bill and Ike agreed, was a perfect place where they could find peace and solitude. They built a small, crude cabin, a dugout more than a cabin really, but it was good enough for these hardy men who were used to sleeping in the open with nothing but beans, hardtack and buffalo meat to eat and buffalo robes to keep them warm on a long winter's night. When Bill found a cottonwood sapling growing among the mesquite, he dug it up and planted it a few yards from their cabin. They filed homestead papers and named their land "Cottonwood Ranch."</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">They dreamed of making their claim a real ranch, raising cattle on a vast horizon-to-horizon spread. Month after month eventually turned into years, but the men who had been partners for so long they often enjoyed long periods of silence since each knew what the other was thinking, continued to dream and work to improve their land for their some-day cattle to get fat on the prairie grass. They saw eye-to-eye on everything, never argued, and knew only their dreams of what was to be.</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">The years went by and the cottonwood tree had grown much larger. Other ranches had sprung up around them, large ranches with funding from foreign investors. Land that had cost them nothing was now worth money! The closest ranch, the Big Sur, had made it known they wanted to buy Bill and Ike's property as they wanted to expand and needed the water from the dependable little spring. They offered more money than the partners had ever grubbed out despite all their backbreaking work and effort.</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">One night in the cabin's flickering lamplight, Bill announced he wanted to sell out and go back east or at least to a decent-sized city like Dodge or Kansas City. "What?! Are you crazy?" Ike exploded. "No way are we selling out now!" But Bill just sat on his stool, calmly looking up at the sagging roof. Ike blew out the lamp and rolled up in his bedroll, but sleep wouldn't come and he knew a change had come. Something terrible had happened to their partnership.</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">In the morning, Ike confronted his partner. They must hold onto the Cottonwood Ranch no matter what. Too much work and effort had gone into it and besides, what could be better than the life they had? "A good place to live with a roof that doesn't leak on us while we sleep, a place with good walls that hold off the cold wind, whiskey, and women. That's what would be better. We must sell," replied Bill. "We don't leave," said Ike. "I intend to," said Bill as he walked away. No more words were spoken. In the silence, both men knew the break was complete.</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">As the days passed, the now uncomfortable silence split the break even wider. They continued to work and do the things that must be done, but Ike and Bill were sullen strangers now. The cabin became claustrophobic and the open range became oppressive.</span></span><br /><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LMjqcmxDgVM/XbnUL54PAGI/AAAAAAAAKNk/botJ5VvshhcBl0i2B4KstQr9TpdPaUuCgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Texas-Panhandle.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="408" data-original-width="600" height="217" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LMjqcmxDgVM/XbnUL54PAGI/AAAAAAAAKNk/botJ5VvshhcBl0i2B4KstQr9TpdPaUuCgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Texas-Panhandle.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: small;">East of Lubbock - the Cottonwood <br />Ranch was somewhere near here.</span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">It was a late fall morning when the men were working together to remove the stump of a dead tree they had chopped down to lay aside firewood for the coming winter. Ike was leaning on a large ax, taking a break from chopping up the wood while Bill worked at the stump, digging with a shovel. Without looking up, Bill broke the silence by saying, "I don't intend enduring another winter here. I'm leaving in the morning." Without thinking, crying out in rage, Ike swung the ax. </span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">Bill's scream was suddenly cut off. Seconds later, Ike was aghast at the scene in front of him. He grabbed the shovel and in a daze, walked to the little grove of mesquite trees and dug a shallow grave. When he was finished, he dragged Bill's body to the hole and laid it in. He went back, retrieved Bill's severed head and threw it in the grave atop the body. With tears in his eyes, he completed the burial of his partner.</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">In the little cabin that night, Ike sat staring at Bill's empty chair. He was startled to hear someone softly calling his name, but he knew it must be the wind. He had just blown out the lamp for the night when he heard outside the familiar sounds of shuffling footsteps across the hard ground. He ran to open the door, but there was only the dark and the faint shadow of Bill's cottonwood tree swaying in the eternal wind. </span></span><br />
<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">Ike couldn't sleep that night and when the dark began turning to light, he saddled his horse and rode toward the horizon. Passing the grove of trees and Bill's resting place, Ike heard the unmistakable sound of hoofbeats and the creaking of a familiar leather saddle following him. The sound seemed to fill the air as a chill went down his spine, but forcing himself to look back, there was, of course, nothing there.</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">Over the next days and weeks, it seemed Bill followed Ike wherever he went. It didn't matter which trail he took, the sounds of creaking leather and hoofbeats remained right behind him. At night, Ike began drinking more and more whiskey, trying to quiet the voice in the wind calling his name. And then the whiskey didn't work anymore. One night, when the footsteps and the dark and the voice in the wind became too much, Ike threw open the door and found Bill standing there in the doorway! Screaming, Ike fell back into the cabin as Bill calmly walked in and sat down in his seat. Ike knew he was going crazy, but maybe if he drank even more whiskey, he could pass out. He drank and drank some more, but he didn't pass out and Bill continued to sit in his chair, watching him. As much as a headless fellow can watch anyway.</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">When the sun came up in the morning, Bill seemed to disappear. Ike couldn't stand it anymore. Filled with fear and remorse, he rode into the little town that had grown up a few miles away. He told the sheriff what he had done, but the sheriff didn't believe him. You see, riders coming into town had for several months been telling of a fellow a few miles away who seemed to be crazy, always looking around and talking to himself. He never seemed to do any work; just kept piling stones up in a spot in a little grove of mesquite trees. The townspeople thought the man must have gone crazy living out there in all that open space with the unstopping wind. His partner must have left, unable to live with such a crazy person. One of these days soon, the sheriff thought, he would ride over there just to take a look around.</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">Eventually, the lawman did ride over to the poor Cottonwood Ranch. But it was too late. He found the rotting body of Ike hanging from a big cottonwood tree next to an old cabin. The sheriff felt bad. He should have locked up old Ike for his own safety. He cut down the body and buried it right there under the tree.</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">It was getting on dark when the sheriff finished the burying and headed home. As he rode, he could have sworn he heard a voice calling Ike's name, but he knew it was just the wind. A number of times he thought he heard the hoofbeats of a horse and rider following him. He looked back and thought he saw a shadow, but you know how a dark night can play tricks on your eyes. That's how he explained things to his wife when he arrived home and that's what he told all the riders who came into town later and talked of seeing a man hanging from a cottonwood by a rundown cabin a few miles out of town.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-H1oymgP6Fm4/XbnUplBRKdI/AAAAAAAAKNw/9Ph09dgnrEMOdvOaZWcwu-m8Z5qQ3r8QACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/plains-road.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="812" height="197" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-H1oymgP6Fm4/XbnUplBRKdI/AAAAAAAAKNw/9Ph09dgnrEMOdvOaZWcwu-m8Z5qQ3r8QACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/plains-road.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: small;">One of the roads I traveled to find the<br />Cottonwood Ranch</span></i></td></tr>
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana;">I wanted to see where the story took place so I drove out there. I asked around, but people claimed to never have heard the story or didn't seem to want to talk about it. A couple of old men I came across having coffee in a little cafe told me there was nothing to the story and nothing to see out there. But they also told me they don't know of anyone who goes out that way after dark. I followed the vague directions I got from them, but I never did find a big cottonwood tree with the rotted remains of a cabin next to it. I didn't stay around until it got dark. I wasn't afraid, not at all, but I had a nice, comfortable hotel room waiting for me in Lubbock... and why waste a good night's sleep?</span><br />
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Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5977057715648915967.post-64813548780000923612019-06-26T11:31:00.002-05:002021-04-02T10:10:13.130-05:00Haunted Gettysburg<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana;">The Civil War battle that was fought at the small town of Gettysburg in July 1863 was the greatest conflict of the war. The fighting raged not only in the woods, fields, and hills around the town but up and down the streets and in the homes of the people who lived there. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">After three days of intense fighting with cannon, guns, and men often engaged in vicious, brutal, desperate hand-to-hand mortal combat, there were almost 7,100 dead, 34,000 wounded, and 11,000 missing (captured or dead with body not found). When both armies pulled back, they left behind streets and fields littered with the bodies of the dead slowly decaying in the heat of the Pennsylvania summer. The people of Gettysburg were left with thousands of wounded to attend to and homes and businesses were turned into field hospitals. One local woman recalled, "Wounded men of both armies were brought into our homes and laid side-by-side in the halls and rooms. Carpets were so saturated with blood as to be of no further use. Walls were hideously bloodstained as were books which were used as pillows for the suffering men. In the streets and fields, the rotting corpses, swollen to twice their original size, actually burst asunder. Outside a home, several human, or inhuman, corpses sat up against a fence, with arms extended into the air and faces hideous with something very like a fixed leer." </span><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">There are still many places throughout the town of Gettysburg where spirits from the battle are said to linger: homes, shops, hotels, and restaurants are said to be infested with ghosts and the unexplained. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">People have on numerous occasions told of smelling peppermint in the air while walking around the area known as Cemetery Hill. Most have no idea that on the first day of the battle, the Confederates routed a large group of Northern soldiers who retreated through the town to a piece of higher ground where they made a desperate stand. The place where many of them died by the end of that day was Cemetery Hill. As the battles raged on for two more days, the bodies were left to rot in the hot July sun. After the battle was over, Gettysburg citizens had to retrieve and bury the decayed, rotting corpses. They were only able to withstand the awful stench by covering their noses with handkerchiefs containing pieces of peppermint. </span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">The small college now known as Gettysburg College is a quiet place today, but in 1863, the college campus found itself in the middle of the fighting. Consisting only of 3 buildings then, it was used as a field hospital for the wounded and dying. The buildings still bear the scars of fired bullets from those terrible three days. Constructed in 1837, Pennsylvania Hall, a large stately building with tall white columns was originally a dormitory. Today it houses the campus administration offices. The Confederates captured the building after a skirmish and used the tall cupola as a lookout as well as a field hospital. Men were stationed as lookouts and even General Lee himself climbed the stairs to the top in order to keep an eye on the progress of the battles. Students and staff alike have reported seeing the figures of soldiers pacing back and forth long after the building has been closed and deserted for the night. </span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">The terrible conditions of the field hospital are what have left the strongest impression on the old building. Many times people have reported hearing what sounds like men screaming. Most staff members refuse to work in the building after sundown. Two professors, both known to be honest, forthright, and avowed disbelievers of the supernatural, did work in the building late one night up on the 4th floor. When they entered the elevator to go down to the 1st-floor exit, the elevator for some reason passed by the first floor to the basement. The doors opened on a terrible scene. The basement storage room had vanished and in its place was the blood-spattered operating room during the battle. Wounded men were writhing in pain as doctors and orderlies in blood-soaked clothing operated on them with no anesthetic, dealing with bullet wounds by the preferred treatment of the time, amputation. Off to the side of the room was an area where men who could not be saved were laid, waiting to die. Next to the dying lay hundreds of amputated legs and arms. The professors said there was no sound, but in their heads, they could hear the horrible wails, groans, and screaming. They frantically punched the buttons of the elevator to shut the doors on the horrible scene, but they wouldn't close. Then, one of the doctors looked up after severing a leg and, while holding his saw in one hand and the amputated leg by the foot in the other, looked directly at the professors. He gestured for them to come assist in the operations that were taking place. The professors, frozen in fear, couldn't move. The doctor dropped the leg and his saw and began walking toward them. Mercifully, the elevator doors closed just before he reached them. The professors, although thoroughly shaken by their experience, continued to work in the building after that, but neither of them ever took the elevator again, preferring to exit the building by way of the stairs.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">A widow lady by the name of Mary Thompson lived on a farm on the north side of Chambersburg Pike. During the battle, her home was used as headquarters by General Robert E. Lee. The house was also used as a field hospital for the wounded. The dead were moved into a barn across a dirt path from the house until they could be given a proper burial. As the battle raged, so many bodies were moved into the barn that they were "stacked up like cordwood," newer bodies piled on top of the previous ones in a grisly pyramid of the dead. Unfortunately, not every body piled there was dead. One of those men, so grievously wounded he was thought to be dead, was thrown onto the pile and soon became trapped beneath dozens of his comrades. At some point, he awakened to find himself alive but being almost suffocated beneath the weight of the grizzly remains. When the battle was over and northern troops began removing the bodies one by one three days later, one of them tugged on the leg of a body to disentangle it from the others. He was astonished when he finally tugged it free and the man's eyes popped open, his arms and legs began to twitch and terrible screams came from his lips. He had been alive, trapped beneath all those rotting bodies for four days, slowly going mad. A doctor was summoned, but nothing could be done. The man screamed and cried out incoherently for almost a week. He never regained his senses and died crying. </span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">In the late 1800s, the widow Thompson died and the barn burned down. New owners built their home over the barn site. Shortly after moving in, the family began reporting odd sounds coming from their basement which were not the usual creaks and groans of a new house settling. One night, a loud explosion, "like a furnace exploding," came from the basement. Then the whole house began shaking as if it was in an earthquake. "The appliances, dishes, glasses, and cutlery were shaking violently and falling off the shelves. Furniture in the hallway was moving from one side to the other." Loud noises continued to come from the basement so the family members went to open the door leading down. Before opening it though, the door began to bow outward as if there was a great force on the other side. It sounded as if someone with a sledgehammer was pounding it. This was enough for the family to flee in terror. </span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">The family refused to ever return to the house that had frightened them so badly. They did seek spiritual help from an old priest though and he went to bless the house. After his visit, he told the family that he had some experience with sending spirits on their way and he felt the need to perform a ceremony that would do this. He said he felt the house was haunted, not by an evil entity, but rather one they should pity. The spirit trapped in the house was a terrified young Confederate soldier who was desperately trying to free himself from the horrible place he was in before he died. A short time later, the priest performed the ceremony and marked the cellar door with a white cross with a circle around it. The family still refused to return to the house though and later sold it. The new family reported they never heard any suspicious sounds. The house is now owned by the Lutheran Seminary in Gettysburg and it remains quiet.</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">Another particularly sad story is associated with the old Jacob Hummelbaugh house. Located on Taney Town Road, it was just behind the Federal battle line. It was set up as the 2nd Corp field hospital. A Confederate general by the name of Barksdale was mortally wounded while leading his men in a charge against the northern troops. After repulsing the charge, Yankee troops collected the wounded and he was taken, still alive, to the Hummelbaugh house for medical treatment. According to written documentation, Doctors determined nothing could be done to save him so he was moved to the front yard and left to die. He repeatedly called for water so a young orderly fed water to him with a spoon until he passed. </span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">Several weeks later, General Barksdale's wife came to retrieve her husband's body to return him home in Mississippi for burial. Along with the wife and her male helpers on the trip was the general's favorite hunting dog. Once the shallow grave of General Barksdale had been identified, the dog smelled around for a few seconds then laid down and began a mournful howl. Even after his master's body had been dug up and removed, the dog continued to lay next to the grave and refused to leave it. Finally, with the body readied for travel, the wife felt she had no choice but to leave the dog behind. Over the next days, the faithful dog became a familiar fixture. He would occasionally let out a pitiful, heartbreaking howl that could be heard all around the area, but in spite of offers of food and water, he refused to eat or drink or leave the gravesite. He eventually died of hunger and thirst, stretched out over his master's now empty burial place. Over the years since, every July 2nd, the anniversary of Barksdale's death, it is reported that an unearthly howl echos during the night as the faithful dog still grieves from a place beyond this world.</span><br /></span>
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Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com0Gettysburg National Military Park, 1195 Baltimore Pike, Gettysburg, PA 17325, USA39.8132494 -77.23373200000003214.291214899999996 -118.54232600000003 65.3352839 -35.925138000000032tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5977057715648915967.post-85293920118855586032019-04-02T22:32:00.003-05:002021-04-02T10:14:07.828-05:00Haunted Fort Leaton<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8LM-uqeFVcg/XKQnwO2LkiI/AAAAAAAAKI4/8MKlebAHfS8huRwej_m8wMTugoStYdHegCLcBGAs/s1600/Fort-Leaton-marker.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="650" data-original-width="492" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8LM-uqeFVcg/XKQnwO2LkiI/AAAAAAAAKI4/8MKlebAHfS8huRwej_m8wMTugoStYdHegCLcBGAs/s320/Fort-Leaton-marker.jpg" width="242" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif">Ben Leaton, a former scalp hunter, purchased a shack and a plot of land on the banks of the Rio Grande in 1848 and built a 40-room adobe building surrounded by a thick adobe wall. From this fort, he conducted a trading post business and made a truce with the Apache and Comanche Indians whom he formerly killed and scalped for the bounties paid by the Mexican government. He did this by paying with food, goods, and guns for the cattle brought back to him which had been stolen from Mexicans on the other side of the river. </span><br />
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<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">Leaton died in 1851, leaving his widow alone in the fort on the rugged, inhospitable land. She soon married a man named Edward Hall. He moved into the fort and took over Ben's business. He wasn't as good at the business as Leaton had been and the couple fell on financial hard times. Edward used the fort and land as collateral to secure a loan from Leaton's former scalp-hunting partner, John Burgess. When Hall defaulted on the loan, Burgess demanded he and his family vacate the fort and hand over everything to him. Hall refused to move. Bad decision as he was found murdered not long after.</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yNOqG2i2ZPE/XKQn23Fu_OI/AAAAAAAAKI8/DQGDnskw3W4jk_tWYvToVWw4oAdJiMQrwCLcBGAs/s1600/Fort-Leaton-walls.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="370" data-original-width="650" height="182" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yNOqG2i2ZPE/XKQn23Fu_OI/AAAAAAAAKI8/DQGDnskw3W4jk_tWYvToVWw4oAdJiMQrwCLcBGAs/s320/Fort-Leaton-walls.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif">The now twice-widowed woman took her son and left. Burgess moved in and for the next 10 years, he scratched out a living raising and selling cattle and running the trading post. Then one day, Burgess himself was found with several fatal bullet holes in him. It was reported that Leaton's now grown son was seen in the area shortly before the body was found, but then nothing more was seen of him. It was rumored he had killed Burgess in retaliation for his step-father's death. There was no proof and, like Hall's murder, the murder of Burgess was never officially solved.</span><br />
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<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">When Fort Leaton was abandoned in the 1920s, a number of homeless families moved into the fort's adobe structure. None stayed very long. A man and his wife who had fallen on hard times temporarily moved into one of the rooms. They soon realized although they were the only people there, they were not alone. When it got dark, the couple would retire for the night as they were so poor they didn't even have candles to light the room. Night after night they were startled awake by the sound of dishes crashing to the floor and breaking. Grabbing a burning stick from the fireplace, they searched the whole place but found no broken dishes and no explanation for the sounds. They soon fled, thinking sleeping outside was preferable to staying inside the fort.</span></span><br />
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<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">F<span style="font-family: verdana;">or years, there were rumors that old Ben Leaton had buried gold coins inside the fort. Treasure hunters searched in vain, digging a huge hole just outside the home's northern wall. When the Texas Parks and Wildlife purchased the property in 1968, they hired a team of workers to remove the trash from the hole and fill it in. The job was barely halfway finished when the whole crew abruptly quit and left, not returning even for their paychecks. They claimed that while they worked, something kept grabbing their legs and trying to pull them down into the bottom of the pit. </span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />
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<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">Other workers repeatedly swore they had seen through a window an old woman sitting in a rocking chair in the room that had been the kitchen. Witnesses have reported seeing a shadowy man who matches the description of Edward Hall standing in the chapel room where he was murdered years ago. </span><br />
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<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">Staff and visitors alike have reported hearing rattling noises coming from the area of the granary. It sounds just like there is a group of men removing the harnesses from their horses, but when you look, no one is actually there. Or are they?</span><br />
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<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">A less well-known tale is of a poor cowboy who, around the turn of the century, was caught in a sudden thunderstorm. Heading toward Fort Leaton for protection, a lightning bolt spooked his horse. The cowboy was thrown from the saddle, but his foot caught in the stirrup and as the horse madly ran across the rugged land, the doomed man was slammed into a boulder and beheaded. Because it is a tale unknown by most, it's all the more disturbing that numerous people have reported seeing a headless horseman riding a white horse around the compound of the fort.</span><br />
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<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">Fort Leaton is an interesting place to tour in the day, but the gates close at 4:30PM and you might want to think twice about being in the area after dark.</span></span><br />
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Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com0Fort Leaton State Historic Site, FM170, Presidio, TX 79845, USA29.5427693 -104.326507600000014.0207348 -145.6351016 55.0648038 -63.017913600000014tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5977057715648915967.post-66122986364785041202019-01-14T10:29:00.003-06:002021-04-02T10:15:04.784-05:00The Haunting of Camp Lulu<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana;">Haunted houses and scary movies are great, but they are just
acting. They might give you the willies and make your hair stand on end, but deep down, you know you aren’t in any real danger. Being outdoors in a haunted campground with
nothing between you and the evil entities that might reside there, however, is a
different story. Welcome to Camp Lulu in
Brownsville, Texas. Taking a hike to Camp Lulu just might be your last.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">Camp Lulu used to be a girls' summer camp. At least it was until a deranged camp counselor murdered all of the campers one fateful night. After being found and arrested, the counselor
claimed a voice in his head compelled him to do it. After the horror, the camp was closed forever. The few brave souls who have gone on the
property at night have said they could hear young female voices screaming in agony and crying. </span></span><br />
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">A few years ago, a
hiker reported seeing a hidden, decrepit cabin on the grounds. Against his
better judgment, he entered the cabin and came face-to-face with hundreds of
porcelain dolls. Nobody knows what went on after that, but the hiker's body was
found just a few days afterward. Nobody knows who built the cabin or if they still
come around to check on it, but one thing’s for sure – something evil happened
inside of it. Feel free to check it out yourself - if you dare.</span></span></span><br />
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Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com2Brownsville, TX, USA25.9017472 -97.497483825.4451702 -98.1429308 26.3583242 -96.8520368tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5977057715648915967.post-103905731261812592018-04-01T21:29:00.002-05:002021-04-02T07:42:31.448-05:00Demon's Road<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif">There's a remote, lonely dirt road outside of Huntsville, Texas that for years has had the reputation as a place you don't want to be after dark. Even the few people who live on the scattered ranches in the area will tell you they will do without something they need rather than take this road toward town once the sun goes down. The road leads to the old Martha's Chapel Cemetery and is known by everyone as Demon's Road. Even in the bright light of day, there are reasons it has become known by that name. </span><span face="Verdana, sans-serif">Since there were only horse-drawn wagons traveling on it, there have been tales of disturbing encounters and eerie, hair-on-the-back-of-your-neck-standing-up feelings. </span><br />
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<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">One of the earliest tales is of the apparition of a young child with glowing eyes riding an early version of a tricycle along the road by the cemetery. He has been encountered numerous times and it is reported as you near him, he simply vanishes into the air. Sometimes though, he will slowly turn his head and his glowing eyes will intensely stare at you as if he is looking into your soul before slowly, almost reluctantly, fading away. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">Demon's Road</span></i></td></tr>
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<span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana;">In 2001, a man named Bob who lived in Houston heard about Demon's Road and convinced a friend to go with him to see things for themselves. As Bob parked beside the cemetery, he saw that his friend had fallen asleep in the passenger seat. It had been a long drive so not wanting to disturb his sleep and figuring he would join him after he woke up, Bob left to explore the cemetery on his own. As he was walking around reading the epitaphs, he saw something moving on the grave next to where he was standing. As he watched frozen in horror, a hand slowly began coming up through the ground. Within a few seconds, the whole arm was above ground and it began grasping around as if in search of something. The undead hand reached Bob's pant leg and grabbed ahold. Finally able to move, Bob instinctively reached down and grabbed the hand to pull it away from his pants leg, but the hand released its grip on his pants, abruptly latched on to Bob's wrist and began pulling him down! At that time, his friend showed up and began frantically pulling him away. With both of them pulling and jerking backwards, Bob managed to get away from the clutching hand. After running a few yards away to safety, Bob turned to look at his friend only to find he was nowhere to be seen. Confused and mightily frightened, Bob continued to run back to the safety of the car. As he quickly opened the driver's door, he saw his friend slumped over in the passenger seat still asleep. Bob quickly started the car and spun away from the cemetery with dirt flying from his rear tires. As the motor raced and the car swayed from side to side, his friend fell toward him, his eyes open, but unseeing. It was later determined he had died of a heart attack hours earlier, apparently during the drive down Demon's Road toward the cemetery.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cVjkLXcLzjA/WsGOoC7EWyI/AAAAAAAAKA8/oVhZsIs6xFw47s2-XXbYR1Wao1FSj0opwCLcBGAs/s1600/buzzard.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" height="213" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cVjkLXcLzjA/WsGOoC7EWyI/AAAAAAAAKA8/oVhZsIs6xFw47s2-XXbYR1Wao1FSj0opwCLcBGAs/s320/buzzard.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Buzzard patiently waiting for a meal of <br />something dead.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif">In 2010 a woman reported an encounter her husband and their friends had. While visiting the grave of a long-dead relative, they saw a strange-looking man wandering through the cemetery, but none of them paid much attention to him. Several days later, as the woman stepped into the shower, she turned to close the curtain and much to her surprise, there in the doorway stood the same man they had seen in the cemetery! She screamed and the man abruptly faded away before her eyes.</span><br />
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">There have also been numerous claims that a strange, faceless, threatening creature appears out of the woods on either side of the road. The one thing in common with all the reports is that no matter what form the spirits choose to reveal themselves, they have never been reported as anything less than hostile.</span></span><br />
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Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com15Martha Chapel Cemetery Rd & Bowden Rd, Huntsville, TX 77340, USA30.6484349 -95.6295137999999845.1264004000000014 -136.93810779999998 56.1704694 -54.320919799999984tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5977057715648915967.post-13255110567470299012018-03-12T11:26:00.002-05:002021-04-02T07:40:48.341-05:00A Curious Stain at the Bottom of the Stairs<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PcLtXKxqt0w/WqajhpHULkI/AAAAAAAAJ_M/iHnsx-6-4EE2KPz5QYz_wsgbInuQ1g8_wCLcBGAs/s1600/carlisle-blog.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="349" data-original-width="600" height="232" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PcLtXKxqt0w/WqajhpHULkI/AAAAAAAAJ_M/iHnsx-6-4EE2KPz5QYz_wsgbInuQ1g8_wCLcBGAs/s400/carlisle-blog.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana;">There is a mansion on Highway 14 about two miles west of Marion, Alabama known as Carlisle Hall. The house is rather unusual; a combination of Romanesque arches with a Japanese
temple-type hanging copper roof and a Moorish balcony rail, all combined in a Gothic design.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif">Edwin Carlisle, a</span><span face="Verdana, sans-serif"> prosperous cotton merchant, had the</span><span face="Verdana, sans-serif"> plans drawn up in 1857 and the mansion was built between 1858 and 1859 on his 440 acre plantation. He and his family moved into the house in 1860. After he died in 1873, the
house was sold several times to new owners, all of whom only stayed a short time. In the early 1900’s the last owners simply abandoned it and left the area.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif">Soon afterward, local residents began talking about a blue lantern light
that could be seen through the windows of the bedroom originally occupied by
Edwin Carlisle. There were also rumors of ghostly footsteps being heard coming
down the stairs and what sounded like the swish of petticoats.</span><span face="Verdana, sans-serif"> People thought</span><span face="Verdana, sans-serif"> it must have been Carlisle’s daughter who, toward the end of the Civil War, had fallen in love
with a Yankee colonel, one of the Northern occupation troops stationed in the
area after the Confederate troops had been driven out. Any time he came
calling, the young Miss Carlisle would rush down the stairs to greet him in the
parlor. Evidently, she continued to do so long after the war and the lives of
the lovers were over.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif">In the late 1930’s, the home was purchased by a
retired naval officer named </span><span face="Verdana, sans-serif">A. S. Hill</span><span face="Verdana, sans-serif">. He began to repair the structure, but he never got to spend even one night there as before the work was completed, America
entered World War II and Mr. Hill came out of retirement and went off to fight. Sadly, his ship was sunk by an enemy submarine and he
didn’t return.</span></span></div>
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<span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana;">Mr. W. E. Belcher purchased the home next, but he spent
all his time traveling and the house fell further into disrepair. Vandals
broke in and stole furniture, paintings, books, and anything else of value. They
shattered all 56 windows and several leaded Venetian glass masterpieces above
the staircase. They ripped the banister apart and chopped into pieces the 6
marble fireplace mantels. They even dug up trees on the property and uprooted
plantings in the formerly beautiful flower beds.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana;">When Mr. Belcher returned from one of his trips overseas and
saw the condition of the house, he hired a family to live in it. They
were to protect the property and to make repairs as
they could while the house was up for sale. Within two weeks though, the
caretaker family’s only child, a toddler, was killed when he fell down the
stairs splitting his little head open and leaving a bloody stain on the floor where he landed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After the child was buried, they left after
telling a few people about seeing old Mr. Carlisle walking the upstairs hallway
at night and seeing his daughter gliding down the same staircase that had
killed their beloved son.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana;">After that tragedy, the house was abandoned until the 1950’s when it was
rescued by a teacher, Kay Klassen, who bought it just before it was condemned
by the authorities and torn down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
and her parents spent 7 years in restoration and modernization work, including sanding and repairing the wooden floors. During this time, they searched all over
the South for period furnishings, mantels, and chandeliers to replace those
that had been destroyed. When they were finished, everyone agreed they had
managed to bring the old place back to its glory days.</span></div>
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<span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span face="Verdana, sans-serif"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Ms. Klassen said she never saw Mr. Carlisle, his daughter
or any unexplained lights. The only thing that couldn’t be explained was a
section of the flooring that had a nasty stain. She would wash and sand it
until the stain was gone, but within several days, it would return. She finally
had to cut the section out and replace the wood. Today, if you look really close, you
can see where the replacement is located – at the foot of the stairs right
where a dying baby’s cries had been heard years and years ago.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com023200 AL-14, Marion, AL 36756, USA32.63532729955736 -87.36087799072265632.621955299557364 -87.381047990722649 32.648699299557357 -87.340707990722663tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5977057715648915967.post-45202363148893309302018-01-02T11:44:00.001-06:002021-04-02T07:39:08.993-05:00Evil Bell Witch<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">Sarah Bell was
only six years old the first time it happened. She was standing behind her
mother who was washing dishes in the kitchen sink when she floated up in the
air. “Momma. Help me, Momma!” When little Sarah’s mom turned to look, her baby
girl was floating two feet into the air, held up by her long, auburn hair. Her face
was stretched taught by the pull on her scalp. By all rights, she should have
been screaming, but she just kept begging in a plaintive voice, “Momma, please
help me!”</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">Her mother
grabbed her by the waist and pulled down. The force holding Sarah in the air
was strong, but with a mighty pull, mother and daughter fell to the floor. They
were laying there when Mr. Will Bell, husband and father, ran into the room,
alarmed by the commotion. “What happened here?” “Something got ahold of Sarah! It
was invisible, but it was something evil, Will!” If Mr. Bell had any doubts,
they were quickly erased when one side of the heavy dining table lifted a foot
into the air before gently settling back down.</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YKombcjG2Do/WkvDesgrdJI/AAAAAAAAJ50/vPdHheE9vZMdW-H-J4CBylhXxQ2WXcA7wCLcBGAs/s1600/Bell-House-post.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="247" data-original-width="350" height="224" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YKombcjG2Do/WkvDesgrdJI/AAAAAAAAJ50/vPdHheE9vZMdW-H-J4CBylhXxQ2WXcA7wCLcBGAs/s320/Bell-House-post.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">The Bell
family, Will and Martha with Katie and three other children had come by wagon from
Illinois to eastern Tennessee and settled on land he had purchased for farming. It’s
unknown whether the Bell witch followed them or if they built their
cabin on already haunted ground. Whatever it was, the witch refused to go away
and settled on Sarah as its victim. If Sarah had been bad, you could kind of
understand it better, but Sarah had always been a good child, rarely crying even
as a baby and never giving her parents reason to punish her. It seems the witch’s
spiteful hate was unprovoked and unjustified, but witches don’t have to have a
reason for their evil doings.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">Rather than staying
within the family cabin, the Bell witch followed poor Sarah wherever she went. The
pigs would shy away from her, horses spooked, dogs growled and cats would raise
their spines and hiss at her before running away. The witch sometimes slept
with Sarah, poking her and pulling on her hair preventing her from getting any
sleep. When she dressed in the mornings, she learned to shake out her dress as
she often found scorpions, ants, and even small snakes hidden inside. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">Sarah had
always been slender, but soon she was deathly skinny. She never knew when the witch
had salted or peppered her food so bad it was not eatable. A slice of meat cut
from the same roast or ham the rest of the family ate would often become salt-encrusted as soon as it was placed on Sarah’s plate. Sometimes the first few
bites would be fine, but then she would spit out the next bite and run
screaming from the table. When other family members would taste her serving,
they would find it was like tasting a mouthful of salt or pepper. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">It wasn’t
long before Sarah seemed to be near death. Her eyelids drooped and her eyes
were vacant and stared out from the blackness of many sleepless nights and
unrelieved stress. The Bell witch knew her limits though and would cease her
torments long enough for Sarah to come back from the brink of death. Her nights
went undisturbed and her food tasted normal. The witch would stay gone for so
long that Sarah would regain her health and the family would think the evil had
passed. But it hadn’t. It would come back. It would always come back.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">You may ask,
“So why didn’t they move away?” They tried. Several times they tried. Each time
though, the witch followed them. They went to a town miles away and stayed in a hotel trying to decide where to move, but the evil doings
continued and seemed to even get worse. They traveled back to Illinois and
stayed with friends for a while, but the witch was with them there too. They
decided moving was useless and went back to their farm.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">The days of
misery turned into years and eventually, Sarah grew old enough to marry. A
young man she met in church fell in love with her in spite of the witchy troubles
and asked her to be his bride. The wedding took place in the little wooden
church with surprisingly little trouble from the witch. A hymnal flew through
the air and slammed against a wall, several hats were knocked off people’s heads
by an invisible hand, and the knife that was used to cut the cake flew through
the air to imbed itself in the wall just inches from the groom’s mother, but
other than that, the wedding went as planned.</span>
<br />
</span><div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;"></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">Sarah’s
father presented them with a sturdy wagon as a wedding gift, a wagon suited for
a long-range journey. The happy couple took the hint and left the next day
heading to Texas to homestead land for their own farm. For the first few days,
the witch continued to bedevil them. Luggage securely tied down would come
loose and fall to the ground. Fresh fruit would rot within a day. The horses pulling
wagons of other travelers would spook as they passed by. But then, a curios
thing happened. As they crossed the boundary into Texas, the witch seemed to
weaken. The couple felt as if a heavy veil of evilness was being lifted.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">In those
days in unsettled Texas, outlaws roamed the land, Indians were protecting their hunting grounds from the pioneers
trying to settle on it by killing and scalping and as the newlyweds drove
deeper into Texas, the land itself presented challenges. Poisonous snakes were
everywhere, biting bugs were plentiful, plants had sharp spikes and even the
grass hid stickers large and sharp enough to puncture through heavy leather
boots. Perhaps all the meanness that was in Texas was giving the Bell witch
competition. By the time Sarah and her husband reached Huntsville, it seemed the
evilness of the witch had been worn out by the evilness of Texas. The travelers
had no more problems all the way to a spot along a flowing, gentle river in south-central Texas
where they acquired land, built a home and lived a happy, peaceful life
together.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">Don’t be
fooled though. The Bell witch may have grown tired and weaker, but she didn’t
leave the piney woods of east Texas. It lingers there today. When horses spook
for no apparent reason, when snakes appear in flour bins, when babies scream at
night, they say the Bell witch is the cause, still playing pranks and bullying
the weak.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">So when you
see a child like Sarah, a child with fear and hunger in her eyes, give what you
can. A smile, a touch, a friendly nod. And say a prayer for those like Sarah,
that the witches and the evilness of the world will let them be.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;"></span><br /></div>
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Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com0Unnamed Road, Huntsville, TX 77340, USA30.662208442092549 -95.33466600625001830.443788442092551 -95.657389506250013 30.880628442092547 -95.011942506250023tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5977057715648915967.post-49125734250520726242017-11-27T18:07:00.003-06:002021-04-02T09:03:27.152-05:00Peace Cemetery - Haunted Grounds<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Dt1-HYwzMqk/WhyeCyLKm_I/AAAAAAAAJ34/rMDrOIK5KfAeg41fN3LoR3zry3ANJWddACLcBGAs/s1600/Peace-Cemetery.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="600" height="266" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Dt1-HYwzMqk/WhyeCyLKm_I/AAAAAAAAJ34/rMDrOIK5KfAeg41fN3LoR3zry3ANJWddACLcBGAs/s400/Peace-Cemetery.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif">Outside of Joplin, Missouri is where you will find Peace Church Cemetery. One of the oldest graveyards in Jasper County, it dates back to 1855, ten years before the Civil War. There was a church next to the cemetery originally, but Peace Baptist Church burned to the ground long ago and now the dead and buried are all that remain.</span><br />
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif"></span><br />
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">For many years after the church burned, the cemetery was abandoned and forgotten. The old gravestones were covered in weeds that reached 6 feet tall. Briars and thick brush made it almost impossible to enter. Locals told of strange sounds and a feint, bobbing light late at night that could be seen through the trees. Along with the weeds and brush, the stories helped ensure everyone stayed away.</span><br />
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif"><span><br /></span>
<span>Eventually, the building of new homes and stores in the area have led the 2-lane road in front of the cemetery to become very busy. Most of the drivers passed right on by, intent on their daily lives and never knowing the intriguing stories of Peace Cemetery.</span></span><br />
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif"><span><br /></span>
<span>On July 5, 1861, the Civil War began in Missouri with the Battle of Carthage in Jasper County just a few miles from Peace Cemetery. Before the war ended, hundreds of men from the area were dead and most of the locals were forced to leave the county. A large number of men killed in area fighting were buried in the graveyard, sometimes multiple bodies were buried together with nothing but a small pile of rocks to mark the location. </span><span>One of the most gruesome events happened on May 18, 1863, at the farm of a family named Rader, less than 300 yards down a dirt road from Peace Cemetery.</span></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Y9GnfTihKIM/WhyeZ_ULsCI/AAAAAAAAJ38/QrActxo1RCk7n7ONWc8ys24nAD5j-JSrgCLcBGAs/s1600/Peace-Cemetery-2.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="392" data-original-width="600" height="261" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Y9GnfTihKIM/WhyeZ_ULsCI/AAAAAAAAJ38/QrActxo1RCk7n7ONWc8ys24nAD5j-JSrgCLcBGAs/s400/Peace-Cemetery-2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif">Major Thomas Livingston was commander of a Rebel guerrilla unit of about seventy men that ambushed a Union foraging party that was holding the Rader family at gunpoint and taking all the corn from the Rader Farm to feed soldiers at Fort Blair in Baxter Springs, Kansas. African American soldiers from Fort Blair, commanded by white soldiers of a Union artillery battery, were moving the corn from the barn to wagons when Livingston’s soldiers attacked from the woods as they came up from Peace Church Cemetery. The whole area was a field of bloodshed as Union soldiers scrambled desperately for their weapons, sought cover or tried to escape from the devastating surprise attack. Half of them would be gunned down. The Rebel troops, in desperate need of provisions themselves, stripped the bodies of clothing, shoes, weapons, and canteens. In their anger and battle frenzy, some of the dead bodies were mutilated. </span><br />
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif"></span><br />
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">A few Union men escaped and made their way back that night to the Baxter Springs outpost. The next morning, seeking retribution, hundreds of Union soldiers rode through the cemetery to the site of the ambush. Their commander, Colonel James Williams, was enraged to find some of the bodies of his ambushed troops mutilated. Because of the warm weather, the colonel decided it would be best to simply cremate the gory remains. The corpses were placed in a pile inside the Rader house, but before the flames were ignited, one of the Rebels who had apparently participated in the ambush the day before was captured and brought before the colonel. The colonel had him marched into the house, shot and thrown on the pile of mangled soldiers. The whole house was then set ablaze. Unfortunately, the Rebel prisoner had only been wounded and his screams of agony were heard until the roof of the burning house fell down.</span><br />
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif"></span><br />
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">Since then, there have been numerous reports in the area of moaning sounds, agonized screams, shadows that seem to move quickly from tree to tree and even ghostly apparitions appearing to be dressed in civil war uniforms. Perhaps the events at the Rader farm were so gruesome that the poor victims have been damned to never have peace, to forever wander the area in eternal suffering.</span><br />
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif"></span><br />
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">In late 1928 or early 1929, just outside Joplin near Peace Cemetery, William Cook was born. The last of 8 children born to an alcoholic father and an abused mother, Cook had a deformity in his right eye which caused it to be an odd shape and the lid would never close, even when he blinked or slept. His family and others soon gave him the nickname "Cockeyed," a name he hated but was stuck with throughout his brief, troubled life.</span><br />
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif"></span><br />
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">At age 5, Cook's long-suffering mother died and his dad moved all 8 children into a cave. A year later, his father deserted them, leaving the kids to make do as they could. The children were discovered by the authorities and moved into an orphan home. His brothers and sisters were all adopted, but Bill's eye, which caused him to look sinister, and a bad temperament prevented his adoption. Eventually, he went to live with a foster mother, but she only wanted the money the state provided for his care and vacillated between abusing and ignoring him, often neglecting even to provide food for him. Two years in a row, he was given a bicycle for Christmas, which he proudly showed the caseworker who came by to check up on how he was being treated. Both times, the bike would soon be repossessed for lack of payment.</span><br />
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif"></span><br />
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">Before his 13th birthday, Bill began running around the streets at night, stealing various items. He was arrested and told the court he wanted to go to reform school rather than back to his foster mom. Six months later on the same day he was released, he robbed a cab driver of $11. He was found and arrested that night and spent the next 5 years back in reform school. He often got into fights with the other kids because they made fun of his droopy eye. He almost beat one kid to death and so was transferred to the Old Missouri State Prison. While there, he got into another fight when an inmate joked about his eye and Bill beat him so bad with a baseball bat the man spent a month in the hospital. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif">Released in 1950 at age 22, Bill went back to Joplin and looked up his father. Being rejected by him again, he then traveled cross-country to California. He managed to stay out of trouble for a few months, working as a dishwasher, but it wasn't long before he acquired a .32 caliber handgun and began traveling around the country and into Mexico. His method of travel was to kidnap people and make them drive him from one place to another. For reasons he never really explained, some of the people he would kill, but others he let go without harm. </span><br />
<br />
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">In New Mexico, the auto he had stolen from one of his kidnapped victims ran out of gas. A car driven by Carl Mosser with his wife and three children stopped to help the stranded motorist. Bad mistake. Bill pulled his gun and made the family drive him all the way back to his old stomping grounds in Joplin. Along the way, he robbed stores and gas stations and shot anyone who tried to stop him. Once back in Joplin, Bill ordered the family out of the car and shot all five of them, finishing them off, even the children, with a shot to the head. He then threw the bodies down an abandoned mine shaft near the cave where his father had abandoned his children. </span><br />
<br />
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">Bill took the Mosser's car and headed back toward California. The car broke down and he kidnapped a deputy sheriff who had stopped to help him. He left the unharmed policeman handcuffed in a ditch a few miles later. Changing cars in the next town, he shot and killed the new car's owner. He drove this car to California where he shot and killed several more men, taking their cars. He headed south, robbing along the way, until crossing into Mexico where the police chief in Santa Rosaria recognized him from a wanted poster. Casually walking up beside him, he suddenly pulled Bill's gun from the waist of his pants and arrested him without a fight. Sent back to California where he was tried for his crimes in that state, he was found guilty and executed in San Quentin’s gas chamber on December 12, 1952. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">The area outside the cemetery fence where "Cockeyed" Cook</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">is </span><span style="font-size: small;">supposedly buried in an unmarked grave.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif">"Cockeyed" Cook's body was sent back to Joplin for burial, but once there, nobody claimed it and no cemetery would allow him to be buried in their consecrated grounds. An agreement was finally made with Peace Cemetery for him to be buried outside the graveyard's fence with no marker to indicate the location. The graveside service and burial was held in secrecy under the cover of darkness with the aid of flashlights and lasted less than 10 minutes. It is said that just as the last shovel of dirt was thrown over his grave, the cry of a small child was heard whereupon the preacher and grave diggers hurriedly left.</span><br />
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<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">Today, through the supreme efforts of a few volunteers, Peace Cemetery is once again accessible. The underbrush has been cleared, the weeds are kept mowed and the old gravestones are visible. Along with the souls of the civil war damned, does Cook’s lonely, pain-ridden ghost haunt Peace Church Cemetery? Stories of the supernatural still abound in the area. Visitors still report seeing strange lights and hearing disembodied voices at night. Some claim to have seen what looks like a man standing in the woods outside the cemetery fence watching them. Many believe the mysterious man is the ghost of Billy Cook trying to make it into the cemetery and finally find some peace. Who knows for sure? Only the ghosts themselves.</span></span><br />
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Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com13299 N Peace Church Ave, Joplin, MO 64801, USA37.121908755023092 -94.54798572275387937.11874375502309 -94.553028222753881 37.125073755023095 -94.542943222753877tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5977057715648915967.post-412656647628124852017-10-11T17:57:00.001-05:002021-04-02T08:14:02.511-05:00Billy and the Boo Hag<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Way down in the dark, gator-infested backwater swamps of southwest Louisiana lived a young man by the name of Billy Bergerone. Billy was a good-looking Cajun boy, maybe a little slow, but still, he had gone all the way through the 8th grade. For some reason though, he sure had a hard time finding himself a bride. His daddy owned a store on a little spit of land in the bayou where the local old-timers would come to sit for a spell in the cool shade of the store's front porch to trade gossip and swap lies and tell tales. When Billy's name came up, that's what they all said, "Billy Bergerone sure is having a real hard time finding himself a wife."</span><br />
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<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">It wasn't for lack of trying. It wasn't even for lack of a yes. The first time, Billy's bride-to-be got cold feet and backed out just before going into the church. The second time Billy's mother-in-law-to-be got cold feet and convinced her daughter there were better prospects to be found and moved away with her daughter all the way over to New Orleans. There was a third time, but that time Billy's bride-to-be got warm feet for another fella and ran away with him two days before the wedding. Billy Bergerone sure was having a real hard time finding himself a wife. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">There was an ancient old woman who lived way back in the swamp in a run-down house surrounded on 3 sides by an old, rusted metal fence to keep the gators from sneaking up on her, and on the fourth side was the barely moving warm water of the snake-infested swamp. Nobody, not even the oldest of the old-timers, knew her name, but everyone knew her by sight. She was just about the ugliest old woman anyone had ever seen. She only had two teeth in her mouth and a wrinkled, pointed nose. A few wisps of snow-white hair poked out the sides of the dark scarf she always wore around her head. It was said she ate most any old nasty thing that lived in the swamp, catching critters by hand, and for dessert, she bewitched the honeybees in the Tupelo trees and stole their honey with not even one sting.</span><br />
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<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Once every month she came to Billy's daddy's store in her </span><i>pirogue</i><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"> to get things the swamp couldn't provide - coffee and flour and such. Late one evening she rowed up and Billy's dad was glad to see her as she owed for two months worth of groceries and he wanted to talk to her about it. When he asked for payment, she told him, "I ain't got no money cause the skinner ain't shown up to buy my gator skins yet. I need my groceries though, so I tell you what I can do for you. You give me a boat-load of groceries and forget about what I owe you and in return, I'll bring a beautiful bride for your son, Billy Bergerone. I hear tell he's having a hard time finding himself a wife." Billy's daddy thought on it for a few seconds. He loved his son and didn't want him to be lonely anymore and besides, he had been looking forward to a passel of grandchildren. "I reckon we can do that. OK, we got an agreement." He loaded her little boat with what she needed and tore up her bill. As she pushed off from the pier into the low-lying fog she said, "Have Billy here tomorrow night and he'll meet the woman of his dreams."</span><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">The next evening, Mr. Bergerone was counting up the money from that day's business after closing the store and Billy was sweeping the dirt out the back door when the corner of his eye caught movement down at the pier. As he watched, a little <i>pirogue</i> drifted up from the dark swamp and silently glided to a stop. In the feeble glow of his lantern, Billy could just make out the face of a beautiful girl emerging from the shadows. As she slowly walked toward him, he found she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. With glowing eyes of green, cherry red lips and skin like alabaster, Billy Bergerone was immediately smitten. With a lovely whispery voice, she said she lived way back in the swamp with her mother and she was tired of living a lonely life. They talked a while and just before getting back into the little boat, she agreed to meet Billy at next month's barn dance.</span><br />
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<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">When Billy came back into the store and told his father what had happened, Mr. Bergerone wouldn't look him in the eye, but Billy didn't notice. "Was she beautiful?" "Oh my yes, Poppa, she was the most beautiful girl I've ever seen! I'm supposed to see her next month at the barn dance. I can't wait!" "Well," Billy's daddy said, "maybe, just maybe, you have found a bride." But for some strange reason, a cold chill went down his spine as he said it. </span><br />
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<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">For the next month, Mr. Bergerone told everyone who sat on his porch about the girl Billy had met. When he told them of the agreement with the old swamp hag, a few of the old-timer's brows furrowed as if they had a painful thought and to be honest, the cold chill that wouldn't quit going up and down his spine seemed to be particularly worrisome whenever he spoke of the girl. </span><br />
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<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">For Billy, it seemed to take forever, but four weeks finally passed and the night of the barn dance arrived. He put on his best Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes and stationed himself at the barn door to be sure he didn't miss her when she arrived. For hours, the band played and everyone danced and drank spiked punch, but they all kept casting glances at the door where Billy patiently waited for his lovely date to show. Right at midnight, she walked in and with a smile, headed straight to Billy. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. The band began playing again, everyone smiled and began dancing as Billy and his girl joined them. With the way the two of them smiled at each other, it sure seemed like Billy Bergerone had finally found himself a bride.</span><br />
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<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">A few weeks later, Billy asked for her hand in marriage and she said yes. There wasn't a church near the little swamp community, but a traveling preacher stopped at the store once a month to hold a service. When Billy said they could get married at the store the next time the preacher came through, his bride-to-be said, "I ain't having nothing to do with no preacher man. Take me across the state line into Beaumont and we'll get married by a judge in the courthouse." And Billy, being totally smitten, agreed to do just that.</span><br />
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<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Billy's daddy found a rent house about a mile from the store. It was a small, frame structure with a window in the attic, a wooden swing for two on the front porch and big trees all around. The owner agreed to three months rent-free if Mr. Bergerone painted the house so when the happy couple returned from getting married in Beaumont, the house was newly painted a light gray with dark gray trim.</span><br />
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<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">On the wedding night, Billy carried his beautiful bride across the threshold. When it got really dark, he was ready for bed and anxious to seal the wedding vows, but his bride simply sat in a cloth-covered chair with a quilt around her shoulders. He tried coaxing her to the bedroom, but she said she was tired and wanted to sit for a spell and relax. It had indeed been a busy day and as Billy sat across from his bride looking into her beautiful green eyes, he found himself becoming sleepy. He tried to fight it, but his eyelids began to close and he fell sound asleep. He woke later only to find his bride gone. He was so tired, he simply crawled into bed and fell back asleep, resigned that he had lost another bride.</span><br />
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<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">The next morning however, with the sun peaking over the horizon, Billy woke up as his wife crawled into bed. He reached over and found her to be sweaty and warm. "Where have you been?" he asked. "Don't ask me no questions, Billy Bergerone," she replied. "No questions."</span><br />
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<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">The next night, his wife cooked him a wonderful meal and then sat in the chair with the quilt over her shoulders. With a full belly and a fire in the fireplace casting heat, Billy couldn't keep his eyes open and went to bed. Again, the next morning as the sun arose, his wife, warm and sweaty, crawled into bed. When he looked at her with questioning eyes, she told him once more, "Don't ask me no questions, Billy Bergerone. No questions."</span><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">After the third straight time it happened, Billy was working in the store when the old preacher came to hold his service the next day. Billy was naturally upset and he didn't know what to do so he started talking to the preacher. "She don't hardly speak to me at all," he said. "She always cooks wonderful meals for me and she's a beauty to look at, but every night she sits in her chair until I fall asleep. Just as the sun comes up, she crawls into bed with me. I know she's been out somewhere, but I don't know where she's been or why. She won't let me ask any questions about it and she won't tell me."</span><br />
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<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"> "Billy Bergerone, I'm thinking you've got yourself a whole heap of troubles. More troubles than you can imagine," the preacher replied. "We need to know for sure if what I'm thinking is what it is though, so tonight, if it happens again, don't look her in the eye and pretend to fall asleep. Then when she leaves, follow her to see what she's doing, but be real careful she don't see you, Billy Bergerone. Remember, you had a real hard time finding yourself a bride."</span><br />
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<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Sure enough, that evening as they sat at the table eating supper, Billy reached for her, but she just smiled and said, "You're a really sweet boy, Billy Bergerone, a sweet boy. Finish your supper and we'll go sit by the warm fireplace for a while." </span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Later, with Billy laying in the bed across the room from his wife who was sitting in her chair, he looked at her but didn't look into her eyes. She smiled at him and began to quietly hum a little tune Billy had never heard before. He closed his eyes and started to softly snore, pretending to be asleep. With a slight peek from under hooded eyes, he saw her looking at him and then her smile disappeared. She threw off the quilt and silently crept upstairs to the attic. Quietly, so very quietly, Billy followed her.</span><br />
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<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Peeking above the stairs, he saw her open the attic window shade and in the moonlight that shone through, Billy saw a spinning wheel. His wife took off all of her clothes and sat naked in front of the wheel. She was so beautiful Billy almost gasped out loud, but then she closed her eyes and leaning back, began to sing, "Spin, spin, take my skin. Spin, spin take my skin." He watched in fascination as she pricked her finger with a needle and then stuck her finger in the spindle. "Spin, spin, take my skin. Spin, spin, take my skin" she sang and as the wheel turned, her skin began to stretch and slide off her body! First, the finger, then the hand, then the arm, then the head, and finally the skin pulled away from her entire body and fell into a heap at the foot of the spinning wheel. Her body now was nothing more than bright red muscles and blue tendons and bloody meat. She looked absolutely hideous; so hideous Billy couldn't stand to look at her and then with an eerie, cackling laugh, she opened the attic window and flew out into the night.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Billy staggered back to his bed and crawled in, covering his head with the covers. He lay awake all night, shivering with utter fright, wondering just what kind of awful creature he was married to and scared it would come back and kill him. Finally, at first light, he heard the attic door creak open, and then his wife, beautiful as ever, joined him. Quickly crawling out of bed, he claimed he had to get to the store early to open that day. He barely paused long enough to put on clean clothes and shoes.</span><br />
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<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">When he reached the store, he found the preacher waiting for him. After telling everything he saw, the preacher said, "This is worse than I feared, much worse. This is so bad that I can't do anything about it, but I know someone who can. I'll put out the word and she'll come to you. You can't go to her and I don't know when she'll come, but you will know her when she arrives. Don't be afraid of her and do everything she tells you. Everything. I'm sorry, Billy Bergerone, but there's nothing more I can do. I wish I could help as I know you've had a really hard time finding a bride." The preacher man preached an unusually short sermon that morning and barely stayed long enough to pocket the meager collections before grabbing his hat and hurrying on his way.</span><br />
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<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">For the next seven nights, Billy ate his delicious supper and fell asleep listening to his wife humming a song as she sat in her chair. Even though he found it hard to sleep, he kept his eyes closed and endured because anything was better than seeing those muscles and pulsing veins and raw, bloody meat. On the eighth day, Billy was working at the store when he heard a commotion outside. "Conjure woman! Conjure woman coming!" shouted an old man as he hobbled by as quick as he could.</span><br />
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<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Several minutes later, sure enough, conjure woman came, moving slow as the tide until she came to the porch of the store where Billy stood. All the others ran away, but Billy knew she was coming for him so he stayed. In a dry, raspy croak, she said, "Billy Bergerone, let's sit a spell so I can rest these weary bones and you can tell me everything. From beginning to this very day, everything." And that's what Billy did. </span><br />
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<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">When he finished, conjure woman told him, "Billy Bergerone, that woman is not your bride for she is married to another. You done gone and married yourself a Boo Hag. She may feel a small amount of affection for you cause you're a good boy, but if you get in her way or try to impose a husband's will on her, she will kill you, Billy Bergerone, kill you dead. Every night, way back deep in the swamp where few dare go, she meets with her Boo Daddy. You have to stop it or one night soon, she will bring him to you and if that happens, not even I can help you." In a quivering voice, Billy assured her he would anything and everything exactly as she told him. "OK, son, here's what you gotta do. Get yourself some blue paint and after that Boo Hag has gone for the night, you paint around every door and window frame except for one little window. Nail that window so there's just a small opening. Then when you've done that, sprinkle a good amount of salt and pepper on that pile of skin she leaves behind. You see, a Boo Hag can't go through a door or window painted in blue. She'll have to crawl through that one little window you left barely open. With her bare skin, it'll hurt bad as she scrapes through, but she'll do it cause the sun will be coming up and she can't stand to be in the sun with no skin. When she gets in, she'll run up the stairs to the attic and crawl into her skin. With all that salt and pepper under her skin, she'll go away and never return. You'll be rid of your problem. I know you hate to do it this way, but you got no choice. It's the only way. Even way back where I live, everyone says you've had a real hard time finding a bride, Billy Bergerone."</span><br />
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<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Having told him what to do, conjure woman slowly went back the way she'd come. By now, the sun was sitting low, but she didn't cast a shadow. If it had been anybody other than conjure woman, Billy wouldn't have done it as he had fallen deep under the spell of his beautiful wife; deep under the spell of a Boo Hag.</span><br />
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<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">That evening, Billy quickly ate his supper, delicious as always. Claiming to be overly tired, he crawled into bed earlier than normal. Knowing that after tonight he would never see his beautiful bride again, he slyly watched her sitting in her chair for almost an hour. Then, with barely hidden tears glistening in his eyes, he pretended to be asleep and began snoring. Within seconds, she threw the quilt to the floor and ran upstairs to the attic. She didn't even try to be quiet about it. "Spin, spin, spin my skin. Spin, spin, spin my skin" she sang. And then Billy heard the attic window open and a barely suppressed cackling laugh fading into the night. </span><br />
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<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Quickly rising, he opened the can of blue paint he had brought from the store and began painting around all but one of the windows and doors. Just to be sure, he double-coated each one. He then nailed a window downstairs so there was just barely an opening. After running upstairs to pour salt and pepper in the skin that felt exactly like snakeskin after being shed, he hid behind a big chest of drawers and waited. And he cried. In despair, he wondered why all these things had to happen to him. He didn't have much time to think this though as a glow began in the eastern sky.</span><br />
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<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">With a swish in the air, the Boo Hag returned to the attic window. With a howl that made Billy's skin crawl, part lonely owl and part angry panther, he heard her retreat from the window bordered in blue. Frantically, she flew from window to window, from door to door, only to be repelled by each until she came to the barely open window. She frantically began pushing and pulling her way through. The wooden frame splintered and ripped and tore her raw skin as she forced her way in. Before getting all the way through, her feet began smoking as the sun came over the trees and shined on them. Crippled by the terrible pain, she made her way upstairs to the attic. With the sun beginning to shine through the window, there was no time left as she hurriedly pulled her skin on, stretching it tight across her face, then her shoulders, arms, body and legs. For a few seconds, Billy saw his beautiful wife again, but then, her alabaster skin began to turn yellow and her face began to blister and smoke. Slowly, like a newspaper catching fire, her skin began to crinkle into flames, blackening and then falling away in ashes. Only </span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">bright red muscles and blue tendons and bloody raw meat was left. With a horrible scream of pain, the creature threw herself against the windowpane so violently that it shattered. Billy ran to the window and watched her fly away. Smoke billowed from her body, sparks flew from her fingers and her head was enveloped in orange flames. The Boo Hag flew over the swamp, spinning and howling until she exploded in the air. Bits of charred meat fell into the brown waters and the alligators enjoyed an early morning feeding of barbecue.</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Billy moved back in with his poppa. The gray rent house has never been rented again and it sits empty with a broken attic window. The old-timers returned to Mr. Bergerone's store to sit for a spell in the cool shade of the front porch to trade gossip and swap lies and tell tales. For a long while, the main topic was the disappearance of Billy Bergerone's wife, the fire and explosion over the swamp, the preacher man, and the conjure woman. They each had their own opinion as to what it meant, what exactly had happened. There was one thing they always agreed on though, Billy Bergerone sure had a hard time finding himself a bride.</span><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"> </span><br /></span>
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Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5977057715648915967.post-35915535163852147532017-06-10T19:15:00.001-05:002021-04-02T08:00:28.343-05:00Haunted Granbury Opera House<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-df0qonFcwL8/WR42vDQESQI/AAAAAAAAJj8/dEJi9mxEI28-Y-EdfrUbY0T-CiHmRc5iQCLcB/s1600/Grandbury-Opera-House.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-df0qonFcwL8/WR42vDQESQI/AAAAAAAAJj8/dEJi9mxEI28-Y-EdfrUbY0T-CiHmRc5iQCLcB/s400/Grandbury-Opera-House.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana;">The opera house in Granbury, Texas was built in 1886. It was a grand structure that shared space with a saloon. In 1911, along with a number of other establishments, it was forced to close by the Women's Christian Temperance Union which wanted to abolish all drinking of alcohol. It remained closed and unoccupied for the next 63 years. It was about to be demolished when a group of citizens took it upon themselves to began restoration. It was almost too late - the roof had fallen in and the interior had been basically gutted.</span><br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RbBe9dq6ivE/WR425FRiEXI/AAAAAAAAJkA/RedEafnaqWYX10c1qE89gyGgAZW-iMyvQCLcB/s1600/Grandbury-Opera-House-sign.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RbBe9dq6ivE/WR425FRiEXI/AAAAAAAAJkA/RedEafnaqWYX10c1qE89gyGgAZW-iMyvQCLcB/s400/Grandbury-Opera-House-sign.jpg" width="400" /></a><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">When it re-opened in 1975, patrons were astounded at the quality of the restoration work. Such attention to detail left them feeling as if they had walked through a time portal back into the nineteenth century. Soon, rumors began circulating that the old building was haunted by perhaps the most notorious American actor of that century.</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">Employees and patrons often reported they had seen a translucent apparition of a man who was wearing a white shirt, black waistcoat, black pants, and high black boots. Several employees said they had been frightened while closing up at night by the apparition suddenly appearing on stage and reciting lines from some of Shakespeare's plays. Numerous actors, theater workers, and even the managing director have reported hearing unexplained footsteps walking back and forth along the balcony when no one was up there.</span></span><br /><br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Mx32MlyM09E/WR43PJrRWpI/AAAAAAAAJkE/4tpyjwt4-3IH1bIvtMT1OdRHJ6lVxli2QCLcB/s1600/Grandbury-Opera-House-window.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Mx32MlyM09E/WR43PJrRWpI/AAAAAAAAJkE/4tpyjwt4-3IH1bIvtMT1OdRHJ6lVxli2QCLcB/s400/Grandbury-Opera-House-window.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">The ghost seems to be rather mischievous as he often will flush a urinal at one end of the row in the men's room while it is occupied by only one person who is standing at the other end. Ladies sometimes walk into a cold spot outside the lady's room even when the air conditioning is not on, but evidently, the spirit is a gentleman as nothing strange ever happens inside the room. Often, after the crew has cleaned up and are preparing to lock the doors and leave for the night, the last call light will turn off by itself. Tom, a long-time worker has sworn that one night as he was walking toward the last call light to turn it off, the switch flicked off by itself and he heard a man's voice whisper, "I got it, Tom."</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">Some say the ghost is the spirit of a man who went by the name of John St. Helen. St. Helen arrived in the nearby town of Glen Rose and landed a job as a school teacher. He also ran an acting school for the children of upper-class families. John fell in love and became engaged to the daughter of a well-known local politician. He wanted them to have a quiet ceremony, but the bride had other ideas and began the planning. Due to her parent's status and money, the wedding was to be a splendid affair with many high-powered politicians and elected officials in attendance. When John was shown the guest list, it included a number of soldiers and the U.S. Marshal for the Eastern District of Texas. St. Helen immediately called off the marriage and left town. </span></span><br /><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-u4Vodd7sX10/WR43d8rfi4I/AAAAAAAAJkI/w7_4dPWQnecPPOPqgoxsJNi4SGFJcGS9wCLcB/s1600/John-Wilkes-Booth-ed.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-u4Vodd7sX10/WR43d8rfi4I/AAAAAAAAJkI/w7_4dPWQnecPPOPqgoxsJNi4SGFJcGS9wCLcB/s400/John-Wilkes-Booth-ed.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">John St. Helen or John Wilkes Booth?<br />(Historical photo)</span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">A full year later, St. Helen showed up in Granbury where he got a job as a bartender at the saloon adjoining the theater. He stood out because of a distinctive limp, a southern accent, and his strange habit of reciting lines from Shakespeare while having a conversation. Nobody ever saw him take a drink except on April 15, the anniversary of Lincoln's assassination, when he became roaring drunk and spent the night sleeping it off in a back room of the saloon. He would often attend plays at the opera house, sitting quietly and intensely watching throughout the performance. When the director decided to perform a Shakespearean play, John tried out and won the leading role. Everyone was extremely impressed with his acting ability and he was requested to be in other plays, but he always refused except for Shakespeare plays.</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">St. Helen had lived quietly in Granbury for several years when he became severely ill. The local doctor examined him and said he would soon die from the disease. The next day, John called for his friend and lawyer Finis L. Bates to come to his deathbed. In a weak, barely audible voice, St. Helen confessed to Finis that he was actually John Wilkes Booth, the assassin of President Abraham Lincoln. He then gave Bates several of his possessions and instructions for his burial. </span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">A few days later St. Helen and the doctor were surprised when he woke up one morning feeling much better. After several more days, it became evident he would survive his "terminal illness." Summoning his friend Finis again, John told him that the leader of the conspiracy to assassinate Lincoln was Vice-President Andrew Johnson and the identity of the man mortally wounded man in the Garrett tobacco barn was a plantation overseer by the name of Ruddy St. Helen. Booth had asked Ruddy to fetch his papers, which had fallen out of his pocket while crossing the Rappahannock River. Ruddy was able to retrieve Booth's papers, and while still in possession of them, Ruddy was mortally wounded in the Garrett barn, thus leading his captors to believe that he was Booth. </span><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">The next night, John abruptly left town without telling anyone where he was going. When Finis heard he had left, he opened the small chest that St. Helen had given him and found a Colt single-shot pocket pistol wrapped in the front page of a Washington, D.C. newspaper dated April 16, 1865, the day after Lincoln's assassination.</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">Nothing more was heard of John St. Helen until 1906 when Finis heard about an alcoholic named David George who had committed suicide in Enid, Oklahoma. A house painter, George had an affinity for quoting Shakespeare. For reasons known only to himself, he purchased strychnine from several druggists and ingested the poison. When neighbors in the rooming house where he was living heard loud moans coming from his room, they broke in to find him writhing in pain on his bed. </span><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">They summoned a doctor who arrived within 10 minutes. </span></span></span><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">As he lay dying, he told the doctor that he didn't want to be buried under a false name. He claimed he was actually John Wilkes Booth and told the doctor numerous very specific details of the night President Lincoln had been killed.</span></span></div>
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</span><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">Finis immediately traveled to</span><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"> Enid and was shown the unclaimed body in question. After a careful and thorough examination, Finis concluded that it was indeed the body of his former friend John St. Helen due to matching scars and features. He had the body embalmed and then invited government officials to examine it for authentication that it was indeed the body of the infamous John Wilkes Booth. The government officials declined and repeated the story that Booth had been shot and killed by Boston Corbett, a Union soldier, on April 26, 1865.</span></span></span><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><br /></span></span>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">Mummified body<br />of John</span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">Finis kept the mummified body in his garage for a while, but then began touring it in circus sideshows until after World War 1 ended. In 1920, he rented the body to the showman William Evans for $200 per month to be exhibited as a sideshow attraction. Evans still had the body when Finis died in 1923 so he purchased it from the widow Bates for $1,000. The body spent years traveling all around the country with various circuses until the 1950's when a man named R. K. Verbeck purchased "John" from a female landlord in Philadelphia who had held it as collateral from a man who had died owing her rent. By the time Verbeck was able to travel to Philadelphia, the entire neighborhood had been razed and the body had disappeared. "John" turned up for the last time in the mid-1970s once again touring in a small carnival. The carnival went out of business in the late 1970s and the body has never been found.</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">According to the many reports coming from Granbury, Texas though, the mysterious man's spirit has found its way there and is content to spend eternity in the Granbury Opera House. </span></span><br />
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Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com0Granbury, TX, USA32.4420826 -97.79419669999998632.3349026 -97.955558199999984 32.5492626 -97.632835199999988tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5977057715648915967.post-87144910669323634262017-05-27T10:55:00.002-05:002021-04-02T07:57:24.504-05:00Buried Alive<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8Kyv2yU_zOk/WSmhI7OKztI/AAAAAAAAJmE/hJFBOY41mxQWwC199W_3na9LAWpbfjZrwCLcB/s1600/cemetery.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="602" data-original-width="376" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8Kyv2yU_zOk/WSmhI7OKztI/AAAAAAAAJmE/hJFBOY41mxQWwC199W_3na9LAWpbfjZrwCLcB/s320/cemetery.jpg" width="199" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">A universal fear of all humans, a fear that crosses distance and different languages, is the fear of being buried alive. In the early 1800s, Samuel Jocelyn lived in Wilmington, North Carolina. As the son of a well-respected local lawyer, Sam enjoyed a great amount of respect himself. The young man was best friends with another young man named Alexander Hostler. The two men shared many interests and were always seen together.</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">During a discussion one day with a group of friends, the idea arose of returning from death and making your presence known. While the rest of the group laughed at the idea, Sam and Alexander both defended it. While discussing the matter later, a deal was struck between the two men that the first one to die would come back and make his presence known to the other. They would not have to wait long.</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">Sam loved horses and had a stable of fine steeds. He found great pleasure in taking to the wooded trails on one of his fine horses and forget any troubles. One afternoon as Sam was out for a ride, tragedy struck. No one knows what happened, but Sam was found unresponsive in the middle of a trail near his home, his horse a few yards away grazing.</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">He was taken back home where everything medical science had to offer was tried in an attempt to wake the boy from his coma, but it proved to be no use. Two days later, Sam Jocelyn was declared dead and was buried in St. James Church cemetery. The funeral was a massive event with hundreds of people from the area in attendance.</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">Alexander was beside himself after his friend's death. Many thought he might die of grief. As Alexander lay in bed two nights after Sam's burial, a ghostly vision suddenly appeared. It was his friend Sam. "<i>How could you let me be buried when I am not yet dead</i>?" the ghost asked Alexander. Horrified both by what he saw and the prospect of burying his dearest friend alive, Alexander stuttered "<i>Not dead</i>?". "<i>No, I was not. Open the coffin and you will see that I am not in the same position you buried me in</i>." And with that, the ghost of Sam Jocelyn faded away.</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">The next morning Alexander doubted that what he saw was real. Through the day as he thought about it, he decided it was nothing more than grief that had caused him to imagine the ghost. That night saw the ghost of Sam Jocelyn come back though and once again ask of his friend "<i>How could you let me be buried when I am not yet dead</i>?" This time the spirit's tone was more urgent, begging even.</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">Alexander then realized that what he saw was real, but afraid of people thinking him insane, he decided to say nothing. Not until the third night anyway when the ghost of Sam appeared again. This time the ghost pleaded with the living Alexander "<i>How could you let me be buried when I am not yet dead</i>?" Alexander decided right then to investigate the claims of the spirit as the ghost slowly vanished into nothingness.</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">The next morning, Alexander found his other friend, Louis Toomer, and told him everything. Toomer agreed to help Alexander only because he thought it might save what was left of Alexander's sanity. They went to Sam's family and sought permission to dig up his casket. Seeing how upset Alexander was, they agreed, but with the stipulation it be done in private. </span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">Late that night, Toomer and Alexander snuck into the St. James cemetery with shovels and began to remove the still fresh earth from the grave. Before long, their shovels met with the coffin. They opened the lid and lowered a lantern. There in the coffin was Sam, but as the ghost had said, he was not in the position they had placed him in. He was face down. Deep scratches were on the inside of the casket and the struggling, no doubt terrified young man had managed to loosen one side of the lid. Death had not come from the accident on the road, but suffocation from being buried alive.</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">Until the day he died just a year later, Alexander Hostler would sit in front of the grave of his friend all night muttering over and over "I'm sorry, I didn't know. I'm sorry, I didn't know".</span></span><br />
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Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com0Wilmington, NC, USA34.2257255 -77.94471020000003134.2257255 -77.944710200000031 34.2257255 -77.944710200000031tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5977057715648915967.post-44098344440620140542017-05-08T21:21:00.001-05:002021-04-02T07:55:07.191-05:00Devil Horse Hoof Prints<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">The story of the Devil Horse Hoof Prints in Bath, North Carolina is much more than just a ghost story or tale of a haunted place. This is a warning about the evils of betting on the Sabbath, drinking too much, and disrespecting your wife. Don't believe in ghosts, you say? This tale comes with proof.</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">Jesse Elliot was a free-spirited, hard-living, hard-drinking, profane man who loved to racehorses. He was also an obnoxious drunk who, being a large man, was intimidating as well. It was known far and wide that he was willing to take on any challenger at any time and any place as he was positive he owned the fastest horse in the county. </span><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">On a quiet Sunday morning in the early fall of 1813, a black-clad rider </span><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">no one had ever seen rode up on a coal-black stallion and challenged Jesse to a race that day. He confidently bet $100 that his horse would beat Jess's. Accepting the bet and agreeing to meet at the local racetrack in one hour, Jesse left to get his horse.</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">When Jess arrived home, his wife warned him of betting on the Sabbath, but rather than ignore her, he gave her a hard slap across the face and began preparing his horse. Before riding away, he downed two shots of whiskey. As he rode off to the race, he cursed his wife who then yelled at him "Jesse Elliot, I hope you go to Hell this very day!"</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">Jesse arrived at the track where </span><span face="verdana, sans-serif">a few of his obnoxious friends and </span><span face="verdana, sans-serif">the dark stranger was waiting. The man was calm, perhaps a little too calm for someone who was about to lose a large amount of money. Jesse was bothered by the man's demeanor, but he shook it off as the two riders agreed on the terms of the race.</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">The race began with a pistol shot and both riders shot out from the starting line. Jesse soon took the lead as the stranger began falling behind. With his self-confidence brimming, he uttered his last words. "Take me in a winner or take me to Hell". At that moment, as he went around a curve in the track, His horse twisted his head, reared up and dug its hooves into the ground. The violent move sent Jesse flying from the saddle headfirst into a pine tree, instantly killing him. The mysterious dark rider rode past the dead man and disappeared over a rise with Jesse's horse following. No trace of them was ever seen again.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">Some folks say it was the Devil who was atop the other horse and Jesse Elliott went to hell at that very moment, taken there by the stranger on the black stallion. For almost a year, hair from Jesse's head remained buried in the tree. Within a few days, the tree turned brown and decayed on the side where Jesse's head had hit. The hoof prints the horse left in the loamy soil are still visible over 200 years later. </span><br />
<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">News of the incident spread and the local citizens took it as a warning from on high. Sabbath-breaking in the region diminished significantly. The preacher in the little country church declared the hoof prints were left by "a man on his way to hell." </span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">There are certain qualities to the depressions which have baffled experts and mystified people for generations. The holes are not sheltered, but they remain free of grass, leaves, pine needles, or debris of any kind. If they are filled with dirt or anything else they are soon found to be empty. </span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">For many years, an old decayed stump of what was once a large pine tree was visible near the depressions, the rotting remains of the tree which took Jesse Elliott's life.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KejNaVU8VT4/WREg7rpelQI/AAAAAAAAJig/Okfp11pDhgwYzjFOLRM17kroHgkenjkHACEw/s1600/Devils_Hoof_Prints-2.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KejNaVU8VT4/WREg7rpelQI/AAAAAAAAJig/Okfp11pDhgwYzjFOLRM17kroHgkenjkHACEw/s320/Devils_Hoof_Prints-2.jpg" width="311" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i style="font-size: 12.8px;"><span style="font-size: small;">Historical photo from 1950s</span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">In the 1950s, a newsreel crew came to investigate and get pictures of the strange indentions in the ground. Old-timers in the area told them that chickens would eat corn from all around the holes, but they would not touch kernels that were actually in the depressions. Curious, the crew filmed an experiment with a flock of chickens and corn. The result was as the locals stated. The birds ate all the corn from around the holes, but even after the surrounding ground had been picked clean, the kernels within the indention's were ignored. </span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">One of the reports the crew heard was from a 93-year-old man who had lived in the area his whole life. He told them about how he and his brothers would fill the pits with different items on their way to school, only to always find them empty on their way home. The crew decided to construct another experiment. They collected dirt, leaves, and small stones and proceeded to fill the depressions. They then laid multiple strings of black thread over the mounds. They watched and filmed for a few hours, but when nothing had happened and the late-night hour made filming impractical, they retired for the night. A few hours later at daybreak, they returned to find the holes were clean of all the debris, yet the nets of string lay undisturbed. </span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"> Is there some strange natural explanation for the so-called hoof prints to remain visible for so many years? Why do they remain empty? Why do animals not eat food laying in them? </span><br />
<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">Perhaps there is no natural explanation because the story handed down from generation to generation is true - the marks actually were left by a horse whose rider was on his way straight to hell.</span><br /></span>
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Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com0Bath, NC 27808, USA35.4771094 -76.81160449999998735.4771094 -76.811604499999987 35.4771094 -76.811604499999987tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5977057715648915967.post-80410374455462538332017-01-25T16:21:00.001-06:002021-04-02T07:52:53.210-05:00Unsettled Souls of Fort Smith Cemetery<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nJKlOsfh80M/WIkbHPM1hUI/AAAAAAAAJXM/XJ79x8di5-I0BUGAqG2dxXFVQbGCM9GLwCLcB/s1600/fort-smith-entrance.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="197" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nJKlOsfh80M/WIkbHPM1hUI/AAAAAAAAJXM/XJ79x8di5-I0BUGAqG2dxXFVQbGCM9GLwCLcB/s320/fort-smith-entrance.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana;">The Fort Smith National Cemetery in Sebastian County,
Arkansas played an important role in the western expansion of the United
States. By the early 1800s, white settlers were moving into the land acquired
in the Louisiana Purchase of 1805. As the settlers moved onto land inhabited by
the Indians, tensions naturally began to rise. The U.S. Army began building
military posts to protect the settlers. Fort Smith was the first and most
western of these forts. As a wild and lawless town grew around the fort, it
became the last “civilized” place for outlaws, bandits, and renegades to
acquire supplies before entering Indian Territory.</span></div>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana;">In 1823, out of the 200 troops stationed there, 51 died and
the first official cemetery was created and dedicated on the site just outside
the stockade where there had already been 3 burials. In 1824, Fort Gibson was
constructed and Fort Smith was closed. Between 1824 and 1838, when the army
returned to re-open Fort Smith, a number of men, most of whom died due to the
lawlessness of the town, were haphazardly buried there. The army rehabilitated
the cemetery and began overseeing internments. </span></div>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana;">When the Civil War began, Confederate forces took over the
fort. When the Union forces recaptured it in late 1863, over 475 Rebel
soldiers, most of them men who had fallen in battle, had been buried in the
expanded cemetery. </span></div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-84oxaXe53k0/WIkbPW7_MFI/AAAAAAAAJXQ/GtNpU3Xl750Qow4rY2zsUKRYCAG0uqaZQCLcB/s1600/fort-smith-graves-1.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-84oxaXe53k0/WIkbPW7_MFI/AAAAAAAAJXQ/GtNpU3Xl750Qow4rY2zsUKRYCAG0uqaZQCLcB/s320/fort-smith-graves-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana;">The war ended in 1865 and by 1867, the bodies of so many fallen Confederate soldiers had been removed from hasty graves dug on battlefields
and reburied in the Fort Smith cemetery that it was increased in size to over
5 acres. It was officially made a National Cemetery in late 1867 and was placed
on the National Register of Historic Places in 1999.</span></div>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana;">Over the years, the cemetery has been expanded to cover over
33 acres and include almost 14,000 burials. Probably the most famous person
buried here is Isaac Parker, the “Hanging Judge.” During his 21 years in Fort
Smith, he sentenced 160 men and women to die with a noose around their necks.
79 of those 160 actually met their fate on the gallows.</span></div>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana;">During the 1860s, as the bodies of more and more soldiers
who had suffered horrible deaths during battles were being dug up from their
resting places and reburied in the cemetery, stories began circulating of
strange sounds emanating from the graveyard at night; cries of anguish,
sometimes a painful scream, and a persistent rumor of hearing what sounded like
a young man crying out for his momma. Sometimes strange, bobbing lights would
appear, float around the headstones and then vanish. Soldiers who were assigned
night duty of standing guard at the cemetery’s gate refused to do it alone and
would not enter the grounds.</span></div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PM1HKjzzGXA/WIkbWPg-g_I/AAAAAAAAJXU/rQR6LnMANNkcnO5iuXZ1pYDXTmXql45HgCLcB/s1600/fort-smith-graves-2.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PM1HKjzzGXA/WIkbWPg-g_I/AAAAAAAAJXU/rQR6LnMANNkcnO5iuXZ1pYDXTmXql45HgCLcB/s320/fort-smith-graves-2.jpg" width="320" /></a><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana;">By the early 1900s, it seems things in the cemetery began
to settle down. Although still spooky after dark, stories of the unexplained
sounds and lights virtually ceased. In the late 1990s however, for some
unknown reason, it seems the forever occupants of the Fort Smith cemetery
became uneasy. Once again, strange lights began to be seen floating around in
the dark. Cemetery caretakers began reporting tools left amongst the graves
overnight would be moved when they reported back to work the next morning.
Sometimes the tools would simply be moved from one side of a grave marker to
the other side of the same marker and other times a rake or shovel would be
moved several graves away from where it had been left.</span></div>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana;">In 1998, on a cold December night, one of the groundskeepers
had been performing maintenance work around Isaac Parker’s grave. He had left a
spade and clippers next to the grave when he had been called away to help on
another task. It was dark when he returned alone to retrieve his tools and put
them away in a shed. After gathering up the tools, he turned away heading
toward the shed when he heard something behind him. Thinking it was just a leaf
being blown along the grass, he didn’t think anything of it. A few steps later
though, he realized the noise had not gone away; in fact, it seemed now like it
was the footsteps of someone following him. He pulled a flashlight from his
tool belt and turned it on as he quickly turned around. Illuminated by the
flashlight stood an old man with white hair and a white beard, wearing an
old-fashioned black suit. The man was just standing there looking at him. The
groundskeeper asked him what he wanted and the man began moving his lips as if
he was talking, but there was no sound. It was then the groundskeeper realized that in the beam of his flashlight, he
could see right through the man to the headstones directly behind him! Dropping
the flashlight and the tools he had retrieved, the groundskeeper ran directly
to his car without looking back and sped home.</span></div>
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<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Having worked and been in the Fort Smith Museum and having
seen the pictures of Isaac Parker numerous times, the groundskeeper had no
doubt the eerie apparition had been the Hanging Judge himself. The story goes
that when the groundskeeper came in the next day, his salt-and-pepper-colored
hair had turned completely white. He told his supervisor of his encounter and
then, with trembling hands, gave him his letter of resignation and walked out.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com0Fort Smith, AR, USA35.382448807672013 -94.42752951753857435.379212307672013 -94.432572017538575 35.385685307672013 -94.422487017538572tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5977057715648915967.post-57697889665881142262016-11-18T18:40:00.001-06:002021-04-02T07:50:49.643-05:00The Haunted Lighthouse<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JOWhZKQVTbQ/WC-a13H35nI/AAAAAAAAJSw/G63HWrsHwn8J6cGwecmYN8jBlUIOSiHYwCLcB/s1600/Seguin-lighthouse-post.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JOWhZKQVTbQ/WC-a13H35nI/AAAAAAAAJSw/G63HWrsHwn8J6cGwecmYN8jBlUIOSiHYwCLcB/s320/Seguin-lighthouse-post.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif">Most folks have seen and been entertained at one time or another by a player-piano - a self-playing piano containing a mechanical mechanism that operates the piano through pre-programmed music recorded on perforated paper. Watching the piano keys moving without the assistance of human fingers however, is pretty spooky; like there is an unseen ghost sitting there on the bench playing tunes. So just imagine how spooky it is to hear piano music in a place where there is not only no pianist, but no piano either. Visitors to the Seguin Island lighthouse often have just such an experience.</span><br />
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<span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif">About a mile off the coast of Maine near the mouth of the Kennebec River is a finger of land named Seguin Island. The recorded history of this small island is a long one, at least by American standards. In 1607, two small ships, "The Gift of God" and the "Mary and John," came to America from England and dropped anchor near the island. The settlers on board hoped to establish the first English colony in North America. They built a small town along the banks of the Kennebec River and planted a few crops. Unfortunately for them, they had arrived too late in the growing season for this area and many of the settlers perished due to the cold winter and starvation. As soon as the weather allowed, they got on their ships and high-tailed it back to England.</span><br />
<span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif"></span><br />
<span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif">Even the local natives usually steered clear of the boiling waters pounding on the rocks along the island's edge. The name "Seguin" is an English corruption of an Indian word which loosely translated means "place where the sea vomits." After those first settlers departed, the island was left to the natives and largely undisturbed until the late 1700's. In 1795, with numerous ships having met their untimely end on the island's rocks, George Washington gave the order to build the first "watch tower" on the island. A year later, the lighthouse was put into operation.</span><br />
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<span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif">Congress had appropriated $6,300 (a right tidy sum in 1795) for sturdy construction of the lighthouse using the most modern methods known at the time. The owner of the construction firm which was awarded the contract though built the tower of wood and cheap materials and absconded with the rest of the funds. Wooden towers do not long survive the wet environment and winter storms of the island and by 1819, the lighthouse had been virtually demolished and had to be rebuilt. It was rebuilt according to plans with stone and only cost $2,500.</span><br />
<span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif"></span><br />
<span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif">The original lighthouse keeper was Count John Polersky who was born to a noble family in Europe and had immigrated to America where he served as a major in the Continental Army. Living alone on the uninhabited island proved to be a severe hardship. From the very first, his keeper's shack and the wooden tower were battered by the waves and weather. He built several barns to hold a few head of livestock, but storms destroyed them soon after they were built. Other storms destroyed or sank three different boats he had built to transport him back and forth to the mainland. The wet, salty air killed his garden and ruined his health. One day, after not hearing from Polersky for several weeks, a shopkeeper rowed out to check on him and found him dead on the floor of his little house.</span><br />
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<span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif">A number of other lighthouse keepers were hired, but none stayed for long. The isolation and terrible conditions always drove them away. About 1850, a young man accepted the keeper's position. He was engaged to a young city girl and soon after accepting the position, the two were married and the young bride moved with her new husband to the isolated lighthouse home where their only neighbors were the seals and seabirds. </span><br />
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<span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif">It didn't take long for the lively, socially outgoing bride to become bored without the interesting conversation and stimulating entertainment she had enjoyed in the city. Her husband was a quiet man who believed in hard work, but he loved his wife dearly. In an effort to lift her spirits, he purchased a piano in the city and with great effort, floated it across the inlet on a raft, hoisted it up the steep slopes of the island and installed it in the parlor of their home.</span><br />
<span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif"></span><br />
<span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif">The wife very much appreciated the effort and lengths he had gone to for her and she began to practice. Unfortunately, she proved to be very musically challenged. With nothing else to do though, she practiced every day, hour after hour. She eventually managed to learn one small tune and in an effort to perfect her playing of it, she played that same tune over and over again. Her husband hinted that she should try to learn another tune, but she was either unable or unwilling to try anything but the tune she already knew. Day and night, she played the same little tune until her husband demanded she stop playing it, but apparently she had become seriously obsessed, so much so that her husband was worried about her sanity. He should have been worried about his own.</span><br />
<span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif"></span><br />
<span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif">Wherever he went in the lighthouse he could hear the notes of that one maddening song repeated again and again. He could hear them in the kitchen as he made himself something to eat. He could hear them while he worked with the equipment. He could hear them as he worked with the supplies. He could hear them when he went to the top of the lighthouse. Eventually, he could hear them even when his wife had left the piano and went to bed. It wasn't long before he couldn't sleep because of that damnable tune playing over and over in his head.</span><br />
<span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif"></span><br />
<span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif">One day the poor keeper could stand it no longer. As his wife was playing that infernal tune yet again, he went to the tool shed, retrieved an ax and marched to the parlor where his wife sat on her stool. He lifted the heavy ax high above his head and with a mighty swing, brought it down onto the piano. The piano splintered, but he couldn't stop himself. Swing after swing rendered the piano into kindling, twisted strings and shattered ivory keys. His poor wife, too astonished or too afraid to move, was still sitting on her stool when the keeper turned the ax on her.</span><br />
<span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif"></span><br />
<span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif">Amidst the piano debris, the pieces of his dear wife and the massive amount of blood, the keeper fell to the parlor floor. Coming to his senses and unable to live with himself and what he had done, he lifted the ax high in the air once more and let it fall, splitting his skull wide open.</span><br />
<span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif"></span><br />
<span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif">There is no written proof of such a horrible deed happening at the lighthouse. Some say it is only a legend, but others say records were destroyed and the matter covered up or else hiring other keepers would prove to be impossible. But tourists visiting the lighthouse in the summer months very often report hearing piano music. Numerous keepers who came along later, their wives and children included, also report hearing piano music, always the same tune. They report it can be heard in the house, within the walls of the tower, and even standing outside. Many also say they have heard a soft, male voice when there is no one around. Several keepers abruptly left the island, refusing to return because of the whispering voice they heard when they were all alone. Could it be poor, lonely Count Polersky still yearning for companionship?</span><br />
<span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif"></span><br />
<span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif">A few times, keepers have reported seeing ghostly figures, a man and a woman, walking hand-in-hand along the top of the cliffs at twilight, long after all visitors have left the island. It's probably just fanciful stories, but it seems more agreeable to believe it is the unfortunate husband and wife, unwilling or unable to leave the place where their lives came to such a gruesome and premature end, reunited and reconciled in the afterlife.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span> </div>
Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com0Seguin Island, Georgetown, ME 04562, USA43.7081412 -69.75865599999997417.6576882 -111.06724999999997 69.7585942 -28.450061999999974tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5977057715648915967.post-5486462165756685562016-09-29T23:40:00.002-05:002021-04-02T07:49:54.273-05:00Haunted Baker Hotel<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7C5K_SRhDQQ/V-3i5oOBQbI/AAAAAAAAJM4/tQakdWNBAhcfGZdz2q8A7zwao2ERsWhewCLcB/s1600/Baker-Hotel-1.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7C5K_SRhDQQ/V-3i5oOBQbI/AAAAAAAAJM4/tQakdWNBAhcfGZdz2q8A7zwao2ERsWhewCLcB/s320/Baker-Hotel-1.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><em>The Baker Hotel, 2015.</em></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">The Baker Hotel in Mineral Wells, Texas was opened on November 22, 1929, just 3 weeks after the stock market crash of 1929. Known as the "Grand Old Lady," the hotel was a success as soon as it opened and was a top spa destination during the 1930s. When the nearby Fort Wolters closed down after World War II in 1946 however, both the Baker Hotel and the city declined. </span>
</span></span></span></span><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">
<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">After the war ended and Mineral Wells was no longer the growing, bustling town it was before, the owners of the Baker Hotel did everything they could to stay in business, but costs exceeded income and it eventually closed for good in 1973.</span></span></span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span></div>
</div>
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">The owner, Mr. Baker, moved into a fancy suite on the 10th floor with his family when the hotel opened. It is known he also maintained a suite for his red-headed mistress on the 7th floor. He lived in his hotel until his death in 1972. For the last 20 years of his life, he endured the decline of his fortune and watched the decline of his once luxurious hotel. </span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"></span><br />
<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">Just because the Baker Hotel has been closed to the living since 1973 doesn't mean it has been devoid of activity. The hotel remains a grand old structure containing thousands of stories of the people that stayed there - some during their last days as they sought cures for terrible illnesses. The reports of ghosts and hauntings began in the Baker long before it closed. A porter who worked there in the 1950s and '60s was the first known to witness the ghost of the woman on the 7th floor. She looks and dresses like the pictures of Mr. Baker's reported mistress. Rumors from the time say Mr. Baker refused her demands that he leave his family and marry her. Distraught, she jumped to her death from the top of the building. The year of the incident has not been verified but the room she stayed in was a suite on the southeast corner of the 7th floor. Many have reported smelling her perfume and her spirit is said to be quite flirtatious with men she may fancy.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gRM9SItfOtY/V-3jSvcrnAI/AAAAAAAAJNY/eyvzwHs-emEob2ZT0K9qqRwcnM8TMnVkgCEw/s1600/Baker-Hotel-2.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gRM9SItfOtY/V-3jSvcrnAI/AAAAAAAAJNY/eyvzwHs-emEob2ZT0K9qqRwcnM8TMnVkgCEw/s320/Baker-Hotel-2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">Other records report that a drunken woman tried to jump into one of the swimming pools from the 12th-floor balcony and died in the fall. Another reports that a</span></span></span><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"> married male cook got into a huge fight with his girlfriend, who was a maid at the hotel. She threatened to tell his wife about their love. He lost his temper and control and stabbed her to death in the kitchen pantry.
<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">Recently a woman, who worked as a maid in the hotel, reported that on several occasions she found glasses in one particular room with red lipstick stains on the rims. This took place at times when no one was staying in the room.</span></span></span></span><br />
<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"></span><br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-F-KMTsyGgaY/V-3mcjcNl2I/AAAAAAAAJOA/3u7Jchh29kgY7SQG5jHHO2d0uWxuK2sfACEw/s1600/Baker-Hotel-11.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-F-KMTsyGgaY/V-3mcjcNl2I/AAAAAAAAJOA/3u7Jchh29kgY7SQG5jHHO2d0uWxuK2sfACEw/s320/Baker-Hotel-11.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">The last manager of the hotel while it was still in business reported that one night he was near the main lobby on the first floor when he heard the distinct sound of a woman in high heels walking across the lobby. Thinking the footsteps to be those of his female assistant manager, he yelled out her name. The footsteps then faded away and upon further inspection, he found himself totally alone. Later he discovered that the assistant manager had not even been in the building that day.</span><br />
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</span><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RPRoBEfOlKk/V-3jy1LZkiI/AAAAAAAAJNI/XKAHBpBWKYIKTtu8SYH4VriiselTWWL9ACLcB/s1600/Baker-Hotel-3.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="207" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RPRoBEfOlKk/V-3jy1LZkiI/AAAAAAAAJNI/XKAHBpBWKYIKTtu8SYH4VriiselTWWL9ACLcB/s320/Baker-Hotel-3.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">On another occasion, he reported being on the 7th floor repairing an electrical breaker for the Christmas lights which continuously tripped every night during the display. As he was inspecting the fuse box, he heard the footsteps of an unseen person quietly walking up to his left as if not to bother him. A bit startled, he turned to look and saw no one. He said it certainly spooked him, but he spoke to the seemingly empty room and assured the possible ghost(s) that he meant no harm. After that night the lights never tripped off again.</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">Another incident occurred during a tour of the hotel by a group of World War II veterans and their spouses. As the group entered the empty "Brazos Room" on the first floor, which was the main dining room and dance area, a couple suddenly stopped. The woman looked at her husband and asked, "Do you hear that?" He replied, "I certainly do". About that time, several other people in the group began to hear sounds of dishes and silverware clanking as well as people talking with orchestra music in the background. Nearly all of the people there reported this event. It has never happened before nor since, but the witnesses were sure they were experiencing the ghostly echoes of a time long past. </span></span></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sbCO7q7oDac/V-3kAoZs5rI/AAAAAAAAJNM/T2kzD2bWAU4iMaKTp2m9djeAFp1MQ38sgCLcB/s1600/Baker-Hotel-4.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sbCO7q7oDac/V-3kAoZs5rI/AAAAAAAAJNM/T2kzD2bWAU4iMaKTp2m9djeAFp1MQ38sgCLcB/s320/Baker-Hotel-4.jpg" width="211" /></a></div>
<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">A lady who worked at the drive-through bank located across the street from the empty hotel in the early 1990s reported that she and other tellers had their workstations facing the huge hotel. During slow times they noticed hotel windows open on various floors. Later they would notice these windows closed and others would be open. After a while, they began to take note and count which were opened and closed. One of the girls told the others "it must be the man who lives in the building and takes care of it." After that, the interest ceased and they stopped noticing. The strange thing is, no one has ever stayed in the Baker at any time since its closure in 1973 and there never was a caretaker.</span><br />
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A local Mineral Wells </span><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">woman who claimed to be a psychic told a reporter that ever since she was a young girl she had the ability to see spirits. She said she had been in the Baker </span><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">many times and swore the numerous stories of ghosts and spirits are true. She said, "The Baker </span><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">is very haunted, but not like we think. Most ghosts didn't necessarily die at the Baker,</span></span></span><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"> but returned after death because the hotel represented a wonderful time in their lives."</span></span></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Gob9Pn2uj2Q/V-3kHENiNwI/AAAAAAAAJNQ/v6Zj8dM8jpIOL9rbKdKU0j6cryqVW2cdwCLcB/s1600/Baker-Hotel-5.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Gob9Pn2uj2Q/V-3kHENiNwI/AAAAAAAAJNQ/v6Zj8dM8jpIOL9rbKdKU0j6cryqVW2cdwCLcB/s320/Baker-Hotel-5.jpg" width="212" /></a><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">She went on to say that most of the spirits in the hotel do</span><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"> not want to be seen or heard with the exception of a small child. A little boy, about six to eight years old, was the only one to communicate with her. He told her he died in a hotel apartment in 1933 while his parents were seeking medicinal treatment for his leukemia. She also reported that a large shaggy dog always accompanied the child. She said he had bounced a ball to get her attention and " he was watched by an older woman who was always near him."<br /><br /> The psychic indicated the spirits don't necessarily look the same age as they were when they died. Some had been employees of the hotel years before they passed on and, in spirit form, looked like they did when they worked there. She said one of the resident spirits was a helicopter pilot who attended basic flight training at Ft. Wolters in the 1960s and was killed in a helicopter crash while at Ft. Rucker, Alabama. For reasons she doesn't understand, he had returned to the Baker </span><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">with his body in the same terribly mutilated condition that resulted from the crash.</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">In October 2000, two Paranormal Investigation teams, "DFW Ghostwatchers" from Dallas and "Lone Star Spirits" from</span> Houston were contacted to perform a full-scale investigation. With over $100,000 of high-tech scientific instrumentation, the teams made three separate visits to the building. One of the investigators using a digital camera photographed hundreds of orbs. Orbs, according to many experts, are actual spirits of the dead. Orbs were photographed throughout the building with the largest concentration being in the basement and on the 5th, 7th, and 14th floors. She also captured what appeared to be 2 very distinct "ecto mist" apparitions in the 14th-floor ballroom. Another investigator was taking still shots with a high-end 35mm camera at the same time and captured what appeared to be another ecto mist above the first photographer. An independent psychic who accompanied the team reported "seeing" an old woman in a wheelchair in the southeast corner of the ballroom who kept saying, "I can't do it," "I can't do it".<br /><br />The 5th floor was usually the most active. The psychic with the group felt uneasy and nauseous as she walked around at the west end of that floor. She felt that someone was trying to make the team "sick" so they would leave and she was too upset to go any farther in that direction. Later that night, other members of the team who visited the area began to choke and cough at the same spot. They had been on a different floor of the building and were totally unaware of the psychic's earlier experience.<br /> </span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em><span style="font-size: small;">Even during daylight hours and with a</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-size: small;">professional-grade 35mm digital </span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-size: small;">camera, </span></em><em><span style="font-size: small;">strange things happen and </span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-size: small;">strange </span></em><em><span style="font-size: small;">images, unseen at the</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-size: small;">time, are captured.</span></em></td></tr>
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On the next visit, the psychic visited a room on the north end of the 5th floor and heard a young lady making rustling sounds with her dress. She sensed her moving back and forth while making sure her makeup was applied perfectly. The spirit would move around the men in the group and seemed to be in a flirtatious mood. The psychic also sensed a man was coming to escort her to dance in the Sky Room.<br /><br /> A second psychic arrived later, joined up with the group on the fifth floor, and reported sensing the same thing as the first psychic. When he ventured to the west end of the floor, he picked up on a feeling of "disgust and discomfort." He said he felt as if the area was occupied by a large disgusting man who wanted everyone to leave.<br /><br />A time-lapse video camera was placed in the doorway of the Brazos room on the 1st floor and during a 4-hour period recorded 151 instances of things moving. The room had been closed off to the investigative teams and entrance was not allowed by anyone "living." Some of the objects could have been simply dust motes reflecting light, but there was no wind that night and nothing in the room happened which would stir up the dust. Some of the objects were clearly orbs mysteriously moving around in the empty, undisturbed room.</span><br /> <br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZzCB1i5XuyM/V-3l4eW3lfI/AAAAAAAAJNo/noWe2Z56Rz0bO-uqEIQ3scRQ824PQZCXwCEw/s1600/Baker-Hotel-8.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZzCB1i5XuyM/V-3l4eW3lfI/AAAAAAAAJNo/noWe2Z56Rz0bO-uqEIQ3scRQ824PQZCXwCEw/s320/Baker-Hotel-8.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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</span></span><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">A<span style="font-family: verdana;">n audio recorder placed next to the basement elevator captured the distinct sound of a man screaming in agony. A different group recorded the same sound on another investigation in June 2001. It would have been difficult for anyone in the team to mimic the sound since the area had been locked to keep everyone out. One of the expedition members gets nauseous when she gets around haunted places. At the Baker, she wasn't able to stay more than a few minutes before becoming so ill she was forced to leave. </span></span></span><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">With so much activity in the building, it may be one of the most haunted places in Texas if not in the country. One psychic claimed to have counted at least 49 different spirits in the building. </span></span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">Once the playground for cattle barons, oil tycoons, Hollywood celebrities, and military and political leaders, the decaying grand hotel sits slowly wasting away, a remnant of a bygone era. Gone are the starlets, the proud men in uniform, the big bands, the conventions, and others who made the Baker a memorable part of their lives. It seems some never left at all or have returned to forever experience a time when Mineral Wells was one of Texas' finest cities. If you get the chance to visit the beautiful old hotel, please have respect for those who are still there - the Baker's patrons who refused to check out.</span></span></span><br />
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Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com4Mineral Wells, TX, USA32.8084605 -98.112822332.701718 -98.2741838 32.915203000000005 -97.9514608tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5977057715648915967.post-3610332668668078722016-08-31T14:21:00.000-05:002016-08-31T14:21:43.812-05:00The Angry Man in the Powhatan Courthouse<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em><span style="font-size: small;">The old Powhatan Courthouse</span></em></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The Powhatan, Arkansas courthouse, built in 1885, is a majestic building sitting on a hill overlooking the county it once served. The original courthouse on this site was built in 1873, but it burned to the ground and had to be rebuilt. In a little park next to the courthouse is the original jail. The building now houses a county museum and is part of the Powhatan Historic State Park, but the visitor's brochures don't tell you there is something very strange happening here; something unexplained; something sinister.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana";">After years of whispers and rumors of ghosts being seen, unexplained moans and screams coming from the walls and mysterious lights in the locked building late at night, a well-respected group of paranormal investigators were invited to dispel the stories. What they experienced though was far from what the town's officials had hoped for.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Right after getting set up for the evening, one of the psychics claimed to have encountered the spirit of a young boy playing in a corner of the courtroom. The spirit told her he was sad because he had been murdered and that he stayed at the courthouse because that is where the man who killed him went on trial. He then said he was scared and broke off contact.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana";">Several of the psychics reported unseen hands grabbing them the way a child trying to get an adult's attention would do. They heard muffled noises in almost every room, but when they went into the rooms to investigate, the noises completely stopped and no source could be found. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana";">The most frightening encounter of the night happened in the belfry. One of the female investigators had climbed up the narrow, rickety stairs to see if there was anything up there. She asked out loud, "Is anyone here?" Suddenly she was attacked by an unknown, unseen entity. She began to have trouble breathing and felt as if there was an invisible hand closing around her throat! At the same time this was happening, she felt an overwhelming sense of sadness and heaviness, like a huge amount of grief had been suddenly cast upon her. She managed to run from the belfry and down the stairs to the courtroom where there were other people. As soon as she left the belfry, the feelings started to subside and she could breath again. The next morning, she and others found a bruise on her neck right where the invisible hands seemed to be attempting to choke the life out of her.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana";">Later that night, with a video camera recording, several investigators heard heavy footsteps on one of the staircases. When they arrived at the foot of the stairs, the footsteps stopped. Several minutes went by and they were about to leave when the footsteps began again. As the investigators began climbing the stairs, they suddenly heard the high-pitched scream of a woman! They ran up the stairs to investigate the source of the scream, but after thoroughly searching the upper floor, nothing was found that could have made the heavy footsteps and no one that could have issued the blood-curdling scream.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana";">Nothing else happened the rest of the night, but a follow-up session was planned. The 2nd night of investigation occurred two months later and just like before, there was no lack of paranormal activity. The first spirit that made contact was a black female who said she was going to stay at the courthouse with her brother until he moved on. According to her, he had been a young man who was falsely accused of raping a white woman and an angry mob of men had abducted him by overpowering the jail guard and had hung him from an oak tree. Although none of the psychics were from the area and knew nothing of the detailed history of the courthouse, later investigation into dusty records revealed that a young freed slave by the name of Andrew Springer had worked as a sharecropper after the civil war and had indeed been arrested for rape in an adjoining county and brought to the Powhatan jail for trial by that county's authorities who had been trying to keep him out of the hands of vigilantes. The vigilantes had taken him out and hung him from a nearby oak tree. The oak tree still stands today a few yards from the courthouse. The female spirit who claimed to have been Andrew's sister had died in the jail. Records indicated that after the lynching, she had attempted to kill several of the men who were suspected of being in the lynch mob. She had been arrested and had died of an unknown illness while awaiting trial.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em><span style="font-size: small;">The belfry where Andrew's spirit lives</span></em></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana";">Two of the psychics decided to investigate the belfry where the female psychic had been physically harmed during the first investigation. Almost immediately upon climbing the stairs the air became extremely dry and there was a high amount of energy that could be felt. It was almost as if a charge from a lightning strike was in the room. Then the temperature went up until both men were dripping with sweat. After a few minutes, the spirit communicated via a knocking sound and by moving metal rods held by the psychics. The spirit claimed to be Andrew and he did not approve of the psychics being in "his house." He admitted it was he who had attacked the female psychic the last time as he especially hated women because it was a woman who had falsely accused him of rape and had thus condemned him to a horrible death by beating and hanging. The Andrew spirit suddenly told them to leave or he would hurt them. One of the men then felt like there were fire ants crawling on him and furiously biting all over his body. Both men were by this time exhausted as they felt the spirit had been sucking their energy. They both were so unnerved by the encounter, more so than any they had ever experienced before, that they decided to beat a hasty retreat immediately. As soon as they had left the room and started down the stairs, everything returned to normal. They all packed up and left the building shortly afterwards.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana";">Is the old Powhatan courthouse haunted? Those who don't believe in spirits hanging around after physical death will say no. Others will be unsure. But for a few psychic investigators who were brave enough to spend several long, dark nights there, the answer is an unequivocal yes. </span><br />
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Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com1Powhatan, AR, USA36.0822925 -91.11845879999998536.075876 -91.128543799999989 36.088709 -91.108373799999981tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5977057715648915967.post-29958576258485311262016-07-29T17:32:00.000-05:002016-07-29T17:32:35.168-05:00The Haunted Crypt<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Barbados is an island located on the easternmost edge of the West Indies and the site of what some claim to be one of the greatest mysteries of the nineteenth century.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">The Chase Crypt</span></em></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">In 1808 the wealthy Chase family acquired a
crypt in which to inter their dead relatives. Already eighty years old,
the vault was built semi-underground and hewn out of the compacted coral that
makes up much of the island’s foundations. Despite its age, the crypt had only
housed a single occupant; Thomasina Goddard.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The head of the
Chase family, Colonel Thomas Chase, decided not to disturb Goddard and she was
not moved to another vault. She was soon saved from her lonely
rest when the young Mary-Anne Maria Chase joined her in the vault in a lead-lined
coffin. Several more members of the Chase family, including 2 babies and a grandmother known for her saintly conduct during life, were laid to rest in the vault over the next several years. Four years almost to the day after Mary-Anne's funeral, the vault was re-opened to allow her sister
Dorcas' entry. The unfortunate Chase family suffered another death when Thomas
himself passed away barely a month after Dorcas.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It was upon this
reopening of the vault that the legend began. It
was found that Dorcas' coffin had moved from its original position so that it
now rested against the far wall "standing on end, with its head
downward." Blaming vandals
or thieves, the funeral party replaced the coffin and six strong men slid the heavy marble slab back
over the entrance and left.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">From then on, every time the vault was opened to allow the
submission of another of the Chase's relatives the vault's contents would be in
disarray, all except the two baby's coffins and the grandmother's. This included Thomas Chase's heavy casket which, according to
records, took eight men to lift. Four times over the following years the
marble slab was muscled aside and the sun's light would illuminate the coffins in morbid disarray.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Finally, the
strange activities attracted attention from the island's officials and inhabitants
who attended the next Chase internment in great numbers. The governor’s wife
was present and writes: "In my husband's presence, every part of the floor
was sounded to ascertain that no subterranean passage or entrance was
concealed. It was found to be perfectly firm and solid; no crack was even
apparent. The walls, when examined, proved to be perfectly secure. No fracture
was visible, and the sides, together with the roof and flooring, presented a
structure so solid as if formed of entire slabs of stone. The displaced coffins
were rearranged in proper order, the new tenant of that dreary abode was deposited, and when
the mourners retired with the funeral procession, the floor was covered with
fine white sand in the presence of Lord Combermere and the assembled crowd. The
door was maneuvered into its closed position and, with the utmost care, the new
mortar was laid on so as to secure it. When the masons had completed their
task, the Governor made several impressions in the mixture with his own seal
and many of those attending added various private marks in the wet mortar.” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Eight months later, rather than waiting for the next Chase to die, the vault was
ordered to be opened once again. The Governor and a party of men assembled at the crypt. The cemented seals were
found to be intact and no evidence of tampering could be found until, upon
reopening the crypt, once again except for the two baby's and grandmother's coffins, the contents were discovered to be in disarray.
Some of the heavy coffins were upended and on top of others. Mary-Anna’s had come to
rest against the left wall; a small chunk had been chipped off a corner from the violence of its journey. One coffin was found resting on the 4th step, its head pointing upwards toward the crypt's opening. The lid of another coffin had been partially forced open and from that opening projected the shriveled right arm of the corpse it contained. The arm was pointing toward the ceiling of the crypt. Several of the men recognized the coffin as one holding a member of the family who had committed suicide. The floor's sandy coating was
undisturbed and no sign of flooding or earthquake was apparent. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Nathan Lucas,
another eyewitness,
described the event: "...I examined the walls, the arch, and every part of
the Vault, and found every part old and similar; and a mason in my presence
struck every part of the bottom with his hammer, and all was solid. I confess myself
at a loss to account for the movements of these leaden coffins. Thieves
certainly had no hand in it and as for any practical wit or hoax, too many
were requisite to be trusted with the secret for it to remain unknown; and as
for natives having anything to do with it, their superstitious fear of the dead
and everything belonging to them precludes any idea of the kind. All I know is
that it happened and that I was an eye-witness of the fact." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">After this
incident church officials decided to move the bodies to other burial sites
in the Christ Church Parish cemetery and the Chase vault was left empty. It was once again sealed with the marble slab which was cemented closed. Visitors to the cemetery sometimes report strange sounds which seem to come from the Chase crypt, comparing it to someone moaning or crying, but church officials say it's nothing more than the wind. The crypt has never been opened again and still
stands vacant beside the little church in Oistins on the island’s southern coast.</span> <br />
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Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com0Oistins, Barbados13.0705904 -59.54695440000000413.0087214 -59.6276354 13.1324594 -59.466273400000006