Showing posts with label Texas. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Texas. Show all posts

Tuesday, April 13, 2021

The Haunting of the USS Lexington

Perhaps 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.

 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?

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.

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.

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.

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. 

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 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.

"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."

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 2914 North Shoreline Boulevard.


Friday, September 4, 2020

The Goliad Ghosts

The Presidio in Goliad
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. 

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. 

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.

Inside the walls of the Presidio where the
wounded were killed
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.

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.

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? 

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.

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.

The chapel
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. 

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. 

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.

Wednesday, October 30, 2019

Partners Forever

The Texas Panhandle plains somewhere 
close to where this story took place.
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. 

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."

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.


East of Lubbock - the Cottonwood
Ranch was somewhere near here.
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. 

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.

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.  


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.

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.

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.

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.

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.



One of the roads I traveled to find the
Cottonwood Ranch
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?

Tuesday, April 2, 2019

Haunted Fort Leaton

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. 

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.


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.

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.


For 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. 

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. 

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?

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.

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.


Sunday, April 1, 2018

Demon's Road

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. 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. 

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. 


Demon's Road
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.

Buzzard patiently waiting for a meal of
something dead.
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.

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.


Tuesday, January 2, 2018

Evil Bell Witch

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!”

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.


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.

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. 


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. 

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.

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.

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.

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.
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.
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.
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.

Saturday, June 10, 2017

Haunted Granbury Opera House

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.

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.

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.


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."

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. 


John St. Helen or John Wilkes Booth?
(Historical photo)
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.

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. 

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. 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.

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. They summoned a doctor who arrived within 10 minutes. 
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.

Finis immediately traveled to 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.


Mummified body
of John
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.

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. 


Thursday, September 29, 2016

Haunted Baker Hotel

The Baker Hotel, 2015.
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. 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.
 
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.

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.
 
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 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. 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.

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.

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.

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.


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.

A local Mineral Wells
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 many times and swore the numerous stories of ghosts and spirits are true. She said, "The Baker is very haunted, but not like we think. Most ghosts didn't necessarily die at the Baker, but returned after death because the hotel represented a wonderful time in their lives."


She went on to say that most of the spirits in the hotel do 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."

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
with his body in the same terribly mutilated condition that resulted from the crash.


In October 2000, two Paranormal Investigation teams, "DFW Ghostwatchers" from Dallas and "Lone Star Spirits" from 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".

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.
           

Even during daylight hours and with a
professional-grade 35mm digital
camera, strange things happen and
strange images, unseen at the
time, are captured.
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.

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.

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.

           
An 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. 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.

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.




 

Sunday, June 19, 2016

The Indian Sentinel

As the sun was setting one fine autumn day, a young boy was watching a motionless figure standing on top of the hill at the edge of Tehuacana, Texas. For over a half-hour the boy had been watching that figure staring westward, never moving, still as a statue.

The young boy was John Boyd, son of the founder of the village. The figure he was watching was obviously an Indian as John could see the feathered headdress on his head, but this was 1858 and the Indians had been driven from the area some years ago. He finally decided to climb the small hill to get closer. What danger was one lone Indian when it appeared he didn't have a horse and there were settlers with guns nearby should John call out to them?

Making his voice friendly, young John called out to him, but the Indian didn't move. It was as if he didn't hear him so John walked closer. He was close enough now to see the fine buckskins he wore, the craftsmanship of the stitches and the colorful beads which adorned the shirt. He had fine, long black hair which was braided and a beautiful leather belt with strips of rawhide that moved with the wind. John looked carefully, but he could see no weapon.  "Are you hungry? We can spare some food."

Ever so slowly, the Indian's head turned, as though it took an intense labor of will. The eyes, as dark as a black pit fixed on the boy. No expression crossed the face, only the awareness of another's presence. Jon felt paralyzed, totally incapable of running away from those eyes staring unblinking at him. It was then he noticed a strange glow about the figure, as though the fading sunlight radiated not around him, but through him! Suddenly, John felt very cold and an inner voice said to run, run very fast!

Before he could move though, the Indian was gone. John carefully looked, but there was nothing around him. The figure had vanished into the air.

John Boyd would not be the last to see the hilltop Indian sentinel, the last chief of the Tawakoni tribe, a man who had died in a massacre thirty years earlier. For years afterward, at daybreak and sunset, the chief would appear and stand motionless atop the little hill overlooking the land that had once been home. Whether he was awaiting the return of his people, his son at their head, or he was standing guard in penance has never been determined.

The Tawakoni were allies of the Tejas who lived to the east. They were an industrious and friendly people who protected their lands, and thus the land of the Tejas, from the war-like and more savage plains warriors who roamed the west. The Cherokee were being driven from their own lands by the white man by the 1820's and they needed the game and watering holes of the Tawakoni. The Cherokee came in force, but the Tawakoni fought them to a standstill in a battle where Waco now stands. The enemy invaders retreated and left them in peace...for a while. Thinking they had driven them away, the Tawakoni relaxed and braves posted as guards were not as vigilant. The Cherokee snuck back and in a devastating attack, virtually annihilated all of them. They burned to the ground the bee-hive-shaped dwellings and erased any signs the Tawakoni ever lived there. Only a handful escaped, mostly women and small children, as Tawakoni braves and their chief sacrificed their lives giving the survivors time to grab the chief's son and flee into the brush.

The last stand of the Tawakoni was not recorded in white man's books and may have gone completely unknown except for an Indian scout who worked for General Earl Van Dorn, a grand-nephew of Andrew Jackson. Known only as Tawakoni Jim, he told the troopers his childhood memory of his father's death on that flaming hilltop. As soldiers were transferred to other units, the story was passed around the evening fires from one army camp to another. As stories do, this one made it back to the Tehuacana settlers who were finally sure of what they saw - a father waiting for his son's return.

In the late 1900's, archaeologist found proof of the story. Near Barry Springs on Tehuacana's eastern side, they located the old village. They traced the sunken floors and the central fire basins. They found the lodgepole marks for oval dwellings. They gathered artifacts clearly identified as Tawakoni. Most telling, they found proof of a village which had been razed by fire. Tawakoni Jim's story was true.

Shortly before Jim passed away at the age of 90 in the early 1900's, his minister was able to trace his lineage and authenticate that he was indeed the chieftain-to-be, escaped from his dying village. The return of Jim's people was a lost dream.

When I heard this story, of course I had to drive there and check it out for myself. There's not much to the community of Tehuacana now, a lot of abandoned buildings and broken dreams. When asked, most of the older people I found to talk to just smiled and said they had never heard of the story. One old gentleman dressed in a farmer's dirty overalls and beat-up straw hat looked at me sideways for several seconds, spit some chewing tobacco juice on the ground and said he didn't have time for such nonsense as he turned and walked away.

I found another old man with a deeply-lined, weather-beaten face and snow-white hair sitting on a bench in front of a small store. I sat for a little while, drinking a coke I bought inside. When I asked him if he knew of the story, he admitted he did. He said he was born and raised around Tehuacana and had heard the story from his grandfather. He told me the old Indian still makes an appearance every now and then, always at sunrise or dusk. He claimed to have seen him himself. He said he thinks he is standing guard, doing penance for allowing his people to become lax, to be caught unprepared to defend themselves. But then again, he thinks it's just as likely he's still waiting for his son to return, a father's vigil. "That's just my figuring though cause nobody knows for sure," he said. "You can't read the mind of a ghost." And then he gave me directions to the hill.

It was getting dark as I followed the old man's directions. It's a pleasant place with a few hackberry tree's around a little park at the top, cleared of vegetation, overlooking a vast open countryside. I waited there, alone, hoping to see an old Indian chief appear out of thin air. It didn't happen. Perhaps all these years later he has given up returning. There's no one left to listen to his warning of what happens to a people when they let down their guard. I drove away wondering about things that can't be explained.

At the bottom of the hill, I looked in my rearview mirror. I'm sure what I saw at the very top of the hill was just a tree. Strange, I hadn't noticed it while I was there.
 

Thursday, May 26, 2016

Haunted Texas Mission

In far south Texas 5 miles outside the city of Mission and a short distance from the Rio Grande River and the Mexican border is La Lomita Mission. The mission, formerly maintained by the Oblates of Mary Immaculate Order of priests and nuns, was established to give a place of holy worship and comfort for the area residents, to "propagate the faith among barbarians" and to carry on humanitarian work. The Oblates, a French Order, built the chapel and a brick residence in 1899 and manned it with 3 priests and a few nuns. The structures were built on a large tract of land which had been deeded to the group by a Frenchman who had recently passed away. Although the site was what today we consider near the city, in those days the distance and unpaved roads proved to far for people to easily travel. Just 3 years later, the mission was moved to a new complex within the city limits.

La Lomita Mission chapel was restored in
1976 as a designated historic building of
South Texas.
According to a story handed down through several generations, there actually was a different reason the mission was moved; a much more sinister reason. This story explains that within a year after the priests and nuns moved in, isolation and human nature got the best of the holy residents. Only the nuns and priests will ever know exactly what went on during those long, dark, not so lonely nights, but remember, this was long before effective birth control. The sudden absence of individual nuns would be explained away by the priests who said they were on a religious retreat. The nun would suddenly reappear several months later, but if asked, would always refuse to talk about her absence. One of the missing nuns who was "on a retreat" was spotted by a Mexican family who came across the river in the back of the chapel. She was working in a small garden and when she saw the family, she ran away to hide in the building. Her belly was obviously large with child. Worshipers who made their way to the chapel began reporting hearing cries of babies in this place where no babies should be.

The prohibited activities couldn't be concealed forever. These people of the cloth, afraid they would be excommunicated if the children were discovered, committed the most hideous, unholy act imaginable. They began burying the children's bodies in the field behind the church.

One day a powerful hurricane hit the area bringing wide-spread flooding and much devastation. The little chapel was heavily damaged. After the waters receded, people living on the area ranches came to help repair the structure. Two families coming across the river made a horrible discovery - the bones of a baby sticking up from a washed out shallow grave. Their cries of horror brought others to the field behind the chapel and soon, more little bones were being found in little graves. The priests and nuns made a quick retreat to their living quarters and locked the door to the structure.

That very afternoon, when word spread to the ranches and through the town, the people were so horrified that they stormed the mission grounds. While the mob was breaking down the doors, one of the priests escaped out of a back window, but the other two padres were captured and beaten to death. The nuns were stripped of their religious habits and forced to cover themselves with rough muslin and potato sacks. They were placed in the back of a flat-bed wagon and taken away. No one seems to know, or at least no one will tell, what happened to the nuns after that, but neither they nor the priest who escaped were ever heard of or seen again.

The mission stood empty for a long time afterwards. Some say the bones of the priests remained laying beside the chapel as a reminder of its horrific past until the animals had eaten and carried them away. Rumors of babies cries and screams of the condemned in the night began to be reported. Soon, nobody dared venture near the site.

Abandoned ruins of the Catholic training center
for novice priests. Residents here were plagued
by cries and strange lights coming from the
nearby chapel.
Eventually, a large 3-story brick building was erected to house a Catholic training center for novice priests a few hundred yards away from the chapel. Tales of strange lights and unexplained noises emanating from the area of the old chapel plagued the center throughout its existence. It was soon abandoned. In 1974, another building was constructed on the property for use as an insane asylum. From the time it was opened, the inmates and staff members repeatedly reported ghostly apparitions and anguished cries coming from the old chapel building. On numerous occasions, uninformed visitors and passerby's reported seeing the translucent figure of a nun either standing in the window of the chapel or floating in mid-air in front of the chapel. Perhaps she was one of the disgraced nuns, the only one whose faith and honor remained true; an innocent daughter of Christ caught up in the mob's outrage that day. The people who have seen her report her head is bowed as if in prayer. Most of the time she is seen by the moonlight of night, but she has also been seen occasionally in broad daylight. If approached, the figure slowly transforms into a shapeless, misty cloud before vanishing altogether.

Finally, the evil vibes of the place became too much to bear and the buildings were permanently closed. The town of Mission has turned a portion of the grounds into a park, but it's a park no one goes to after dark.