Yeah, I'm suggesting two threads in one day. I know a ton of New York City ghost stories because ghost stories are awesome, and I just learned a new one this week that I particularly enjoyed. There used to be this mansion not very far from where I live now, back when Brooklyn was mostly farmland, that was built by an Englishman in the mid-1700s and given to a Tory who was a Colonel, named Axtell. During time spent in England, Axtell became engaged to a woman but, once they were engaged, ended up falling in love with her sister. After they were married, they moved back to New York to live in the mansion. Soon after that, the sister ended up coming to New York as well to be with Axtell in secret. He ended up hiding her in this secret room in the mansion, which was only accessible by this hidden staircase in a closet. She spent years in there, with Axtell visiting her every night and only one maid knowing she was up there, who would bring her food and care for her. Meanwhile, the wife was getting upset because her letters to her sister were going unanswered, and she was sure that it meant she was in trouble or dead, which Axtell let her believe. After a few years, Axtell was called away for the war. During this time, the maid - who, again, was the only person that knew about her - died. The sister wasn't able to get out of her room, so she went nuts and died of starvation. Axtell had no idea and, upon his return and discovering that the maid had died, rushed up to the secret room to find the remains of the sister. This is how his wife found out about everything, and a shitshow ensued. Both Axtell and his wife died shortly afterwards "of heartbreak" and all of their ghosts were supposed to have haunted the mansion until it was torn down. In honor of Halloween: Focus: What are your favorite local legends and/or ghost stories? Alt-focus: Have you ever gone to investigate a legend for yourself as a bored teenager and/or a drunk adult? You know, the "I dare you to go spend a night in the abandoned and totally haunted house where there was that murder-suicide" type of adventure.
These are pretty long, but great stories. The Ghost of Alice Flagg Spoiler The Alice Flagg story began in 1849 when she lived with her brother, Dr. Allard Flagg, and their mother in Murrells Inlet. They lived at The Hermitage, which was the seashore home of the owners of Wachesaw Plantation during the colonial period. This is a case of the mother and brother becoming deeply involved in the life of a young girl when she fell in love with a man believed to be beneath her station in South Carolina aristocracy. "Every woman must leave her mark on the earth," Alice's mother whispered to her. "And how can you etch on this earth anything that's worthwhile if you attach yourself to this common lumberman?" But Alice was obsessed with her young man and paid scarce attention to her mother and her brother. However, on day when the tall, clean-cut lumberman came to call and Alice was about to step into the carriage with him, her brother stormed out of The Hermitage, and yelled, "Wait!" He refused to allow Alice to ride with her young man, and he forced the lumberman to ride a horse while he, Dr. Flagg, sat in the carriage beside Alice. Alice felt she was suffering under the tyranny of her family, and she hotly resented their unrestrained exercise of power. She was wretched, and for all she could tell, her mother and brother didn't care! While her mother and brother had extolled the virtues of falling in love with someone who would be a glorious addition to the Flagg family, Alice could not relate to their arguments, spoken with great fervor. She accepted an engagement ring from her true love. Dr. Allard Flagg staunchly refused to allow Alice to wear the ring on her finger, so she attached it to a ribbon and concealed it around her neck. As the days passed, she believed she was successful in concealing the ring. But one day her mother discovered the ring on her chest and another fighting match flared. The mother shouted that the lumberman was deplorable and plebeian and unfashionable as well -- worthy of no better wife than a common shop girl! After suffering undue abuse, Alice was unable to persuade her mother and her brother to change their attitudes toward her betrothed, and under their bitter arguments she agreed to leave Murrells Inlet for Charleston where she would attend school. But living in Charleston, with the change of terrain and the sensation of being alone in the pastel port city -- plus what seemed to be a lifetime of grief over her lost love -- took its toll on Alice. She became frail and listless and complained of some discomfort in the left side of her head. Lying on her bed, crying into her pillow, she carved in her mind a track of her life without the man she loved, and the track ended, always in a blur, an indistinct ending to her future. When she had first arrived in Charleston, she had been able to look with stark clarity on her predicament, but now it was blinding, a remarkable silence that she couldn't comprehend. Was she to survive this, she wondered. One night, as she lay on her bed, although she was in a southern port city, she began to think that she was trying to walk in deep snow. It was a mystical experience as she pulled herself through deep white powder, struggling, and then, floating. The wilderness was on a grand scale of sky-high white spires, ancient glaciers and faraway valleys. Later that night, word went from the school that Alice had taken sick and should be sent to her home in Murrells Inlet. When her brother received the word, he left at once in his carriage, but the way was long and arduous. Four days later he reached Charleston. He found Alice incredibly fatigued, with no strength to even nod to him. Her stamina had evaporated, and her nerves seemed in knots. He carried her to his carriage, and one of her friends packed her favorite dress for the journey. It was another four-day trip back home. The jostling and jolting as the carriage convulsed and bumped on the uneven roadway and across several rivers by ferry heightened Alice's nervousness. When she reached home, she was substantially weakened and soon lapsed into a coma and died. Alice Flagg was dressed in her favorite dress for her funeral at All Saints Church, but her engagement ring had been taken away. Her corpse wasn't one of beauty. Her waxy face clearly showed the pain of losing her true love, and then, her life. A plain marble slab, engraved ALICE, was placed over her burial mound. Myriad friends and relatives say they have seen Alice's apparition at her home, The Hermitage at Murrells Inlet, and in the burial ground at All Saints Waccamaw Episcopal churchyard. It is believed that she comes back to search for her lost engagement ring. When a group of young people stood at the gravesite of Alice Flagg, a ring suddenly flew off the finger of one of the girls. It took the group much of the day to locate the ring, which was treasured. The girl had been unable to remove the ring from her finger for several years due to a weight gain. Whats crazy about this place is that its now in the middle of your typical shitty beach shops and stuff. The house was moved but is still around there, and you can see her grave still. The Grey Man of Pawley's Island Spoiler Perhaps the most frequently told ghost story in Georgetown County is that of the Grey Man. According to numerous documented accounts, he appears on the beach at Pawleys Island prior to hurricanes. Everyone who has seen the Grey Man says that he warns them to leave the island. Residents who are wise enough to heed the Grey Man's warning always find their homes undamaged after the storm. Encounters with the Grey Man have taken place before every major hurricane that has struck the island for more than a hundred years. The Grey Man is unquestionably a permanent resident of Pawleys Island, but what causes this kind spirit to warn unsuspecting residents of approaching danger? The answer may lie in one of three different accounts that exist about the origin of the Grey Man. According to one legend, a young woman was walking the windswept, lonely beach not far from her parent's Pawleys Island home. She was in mourning for her childhood sweetheart who had recently died in a tragic accident on the island. Her love had returned to Georgetown by ship after an absence of several months. He was so eager to see his beloved fiancee that, rather than wasting one more precious moment away from her, he took a shortcut across previously untraveled marshland. With his faithful manservant riding a short distance behind, the eager fellow and his horse came to a sudden stop and began to sink rapidly into a patch of deadly quicksand. His manservant watched in horror, unable to help his young master, as the young man and his horse disappeared into the mire. When the young woman heard of her finance's tragic death, she was heartbroken. After the funeral, she took to walking the stretch of beach where she and her beau used to stroll in happier times. This particular day was windier than most, but it suited her recent mood. She was alone with her sadness in the whipping wind, with the ocean crashing by her side. Suddenly, a figure appeared ahead. As she walked closer, the young woman could have sworn it was her finance. With no fear, she walked toward him. "Leave the island at once," he said. "You are in danger. Leave the island!" Then he disappeared. The young lady hurried home to tell her father and mother about the strange, unsettling experience. Upon hearing their daughter's strange story, her parents immediately began making plans to leave Pawleys Island for their inland home. They did not know what danger they were fleeing, but they did know that their daughter was a sensible person and not prone to flights of fancy. The family left Pawleys Island before dawn the following morning. That night, as they lay sleeping in the safety of their inland home, a fierce hurricane ravaged Pawleys Island. The hurricane destroyed most of the homes on Pawleys Island, but the home of the young woman's family was undamaged He walks the shore to this day before major storms as the story goes, and if you see him and leave the island your home and possessions will be spared. This is by far my favorite ghost story. I got a painting of the ghost that my grandfather gave me when I was born hanging in my house as we speak.
<a class="postlink" href="http://www.uc.utoronto.ca/story-diabolos-and-reznikoff" onclick="window.open(this.href);return false;">http://www.uc.utoronto.ca/story-diabolos-and-reznikoff</a> I was taught this story while wandering around campus at five in the morning, with a buddy of mine showing me the axe wound in the doorway just at the critical moment. It was scary and I'm not sure how much I slept that night. In fact, I might not sleep again tonight. Thanks, Audrey.
A few near where I grew up: Maniac House First off, I grew up with this in my town: Spoiler There are a few reasons why this part of town is called Satans Kingdom. One is because stage coaches used to get robbed all the time there back in old-timey days. Second is because on the hill overlooking the river used to be a house where (supposedly) an inbred family of weirdo hermits lived and terrorized the towns people in the early 1900s, and now the place is haunted. Another legend in my town is Green Lady Cemetary. In a nutshell, a lady was killed by her husband in her green wedding dress and roams the cemetary at night because she apparently has nothing better to do in the afterlife. The third is Dudleytown, which is somewhat more famous. Basically its an old colonial town where literally everyone either went crazy and died or left because everyone went crazy and died. Its also supposed to be haunted, but its pretty difficult to tell because the place is patrolled by cops almost 24/7 due to a good number of ritualistic animal sacrifices that have taken place there in the last few decades. You literally cannot park on the road leading to the trail without the cops finding out and coming after you. Me and a friend of mine were able to get in there one summer because the town was adjacent to what is now part of the Appalachian Trail and we were able to figure out where it was. I dont believe in ghosts or hauntings or anything, but this place was creepy as hell. In the middle of a summer day it was very dark due to the overgrowth and there were carvings in the trees and rocks where the satanic rituals took place. Weird shit.
Karl Tanzler, aka Count Carl von Cossel. Well renowned in Key West lore. The main thing about this guy, is that he is not an urban legend, a ghost story, or anything of the like. His story is 100% real and verified in numerous sources. Which makes this infinitely creepier than that Candyman crap. Carl was a German emigrant to Key West, specializing in radiology in the late 20s, early 30s. As most weirdos, he sought out a warm climate which further scrambled his already susceptible brain. At the hospital where he worked he met a tuberculosis patient named Elena Hoyos. And like most weirdos in the heat he developed a fixation on her. He vowed to cure her tuberculosis. Well, she died anyway. Most likely because he was using an X-ray machine as treatment. He visited her grave, often spending the night there. What Carl did next: Please note the dates to understand just how long he had that corpse chilling in his house. Hoyo's sister finally caught on and had her sister confiscated. Tanzler moved to north Florida and recreated an effigay of Elena that he lived with (re: fucked) until he died. Yes, it had a functioning vagina. The Artistocrats! If anyone is interested in a bit more: <a class="postlink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carl_Tanzler" onclick="window.open(this.href);return false;">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carl_Tanzler</a> A much better, more complete account is in "Weird Florida" by Eliot Kleinberg.
Dude, you posted dates in a way that missed out the true ridiculousness of it all.. She had been dead and rotting for 2 fucking years when he first grabbed her and then chilled for SEVEN GODDAMN YEARS. My skin is crawling. What a fucko. EDIT: And there is a picture of his creation there. Fuck you Wikipedia, I'm going to be sickened all evening.
Abouta ten minute drive north from my house and you'll cross the site of the notorious Black Donnelly Massacre, a family of Irish assholes who were butchered in the night by drunken townsfolk fed up with the bullying ways from the men in the family. The tiny town where it happened, Lucan, never liked bringing it up until recently and it has ghost stories tattooed ALLLLLLLL over it. If you goto try to even look at the site nowadays, the asshole owner will probably come out and threaten to shoot you. Just sayin'. Their house looks just like the Bell-witch family's home:
There's an alleged ghost tunnel about half an hours drive from where I live. As always, a young girl died near the area, and has taken to spending her afterlife haunting the area. There was even a news story a few years ago, with photographs "containing ghosts" where a lady claimed to have an encounter. A few friends and myself decided to check the tunnel out. Not because we were believers or anything, but rather because most of us had just got our driver's licence, and it seemed like a fun night with a few beers. It took us a while to actually find the tunnel once we got there, and once we eventually did we realised we had to basically trespass on someone's property for a short walk to get there. The tunnel itself was about 100m long, and without any torches on it was pitch black. I remember it being really cold as well. There were indents in the walls of the tunnel about halfway up, so naturally someone decide it would be hilarious to hide inside one and jump out at an unsuspecting victim. Other than ourselves, it was extremely quiet, which could provided an eerie atmosphere. After we had fooled around inside the tunnel for about 10-15, we heard the loudest noise, which sounded like a train, and almost as if it was right on us. Despite the ground being dirt, someone yelled, "fuck, hit the walls!", and we all did, as it really had scared the shit out of us, and in that instance we thought the train was heading down the tunnel. After we had composed ourselves, we realised that at the far end of the tunnel was a perpendicular train line. I guess when you put yourself in situations to be scared or shocked, it doesn't take much for logic to disappear.
I've heard about a hotel room in Kansas that is supposedly haunted by the ghost of some young dude who screams out during te night. Apparently, he had a brush with homosexuality in that room with an attorney. He should have known better. Everyone knows a lawyer's gonna fuck you in the end.
There are lots of "haunted" places where I live, and I attribute that to ignorant, superstitious people. I LOVE exploring abandoned buildings, and I've been inside of many "haunted" houses/warehouses/graveyards/etc. Hell, I own the car that my grandfather committed suicide in, and NEVER have I seen a ghost or felt a supernatural presence. When I confront the storytellers with the lack of evidence, a common response is: "You didn't see/feel anything because you don't believe!" Yeah, you're right, I don't believe. Love him or hate him, but 'Sack is right. How many moderators do we have on this board? And what do they do besides let drunk threads run-on for weeks, letting the suggested threads stagnate?* I forgot, they also threaten to ban people for reasons like "Sand in the vag," even though it's obvious that they are the ones who have sand in the proverbial vag. *Before a certain, unnamed, hipster moderator steps up and says "Hey, I just bumped two threads today!", look at how long Volo's thread sat in the suggestion board before it was approved. But threads about speculation over why an article of clothing was discarded on a bathroom floor go right to the top.
I posted this on Fark, but will post it here too: I'm posting about a place I used to live: Fort Trumbull Ct That row house on the left is where I used to live as a child. It was built during the mid 1800s as officers quarters. It is a state park visitor center today. Here is a picture of it today, my room was the third window on the left on the top floor. ( I know it says copyright, fuck it I lived there, I do what I want) For a child, at night that place was terrifying. Dark, quiet, but the occasional strange noises. Things would creak, pop and groan. The groans sounded like voices to me, long dead Civil War soldiers trying to talk to me perhaps?. My dad told me that the building was once a hospital and people died there. (not true) Other things I experienced were just hallucinations, like the dancing skeletons I once saw on my shelf as I was trying to fall asleep. The falling Christmas tree were the only communally experienced event. We still talk about it actually. On Christmas Eve 1992 we were all saying good night and heading upstairs to bed. Right as the last good night was said, the tree came crashing down. We had a wide stand on the tree, and we couldn't figure out how it had fallen. It just did, as though it wanted to say good night as well, and break our ornaments along the way. But the strangest thing to me is how the house has followed me around. I dream about the house about 2-3 times a year. This has been going on since I moved away. I have not dreamed about any other place I have lived, ever, even though I have lived in so many places. They are also the only dreams that I remember, even long after the fact. In them I always get just to the house, but can never get in, or something drags me away despite my best efforts to get in and see it. I always wake up with a longing for the house. I don't think it was a better time in my life, just another stage. But I feel empty inside. Then there is the real world: Back in the early 2000s while living in SoCal, a girlfriends father was interested on my opinion on a court battle regarding eminent domain, and called me into the room where he had paused the news report, and behind the reporter was that old house. Then, just a couple of years ago I was handling some overflow order calls during the holidays; calls I normally didn't even deal with, and the woman on the other end gave me her billing address, and asked her order to be delivered to where she worked in the visitor center of a state park. 93 Walbach street. My old house. For an inanimate object, the house sure has moved me. In a way I feel like I am being called back to the house, just to see it one last time, even though it is now a visitor center. I imagine that it will somehow stop the dreams.
I always remember a story that my dad told me. When he was young he woke up in the middle of the night and his aunt was in his room. He said that she looked perfectly normal, she sat down on the bed to speak to him about something and they had a conversation for a few minutes. The next morning his mum told him that his aunt had died the day beforehand.
I did a ghost walk a couple of years ago in the oldest neighborhood in Calgary. It was pretty interesting hearing about the history of the area and some of the things that happened. A couple of stories that were pretty interesting were: 1. Back in 1914 a woman had moved to Calgary from England and met a man. She ended up getting pregnant just as he was shipped off to Europe for the war, were he ended up getting killed. As a result she was an unwed pregnant woman with no money or job. When she went to her family for help they turned her out into the street. As a last resort she approached one of the churches for help to no avail. With no where else to go she committed suicide by climbing up into the bell tower of the church and jumping off. To this day people in the neighborhood hear the church bells toll at strange hours. Middle of the night, mid morning, late evening, etc. The strange thing is the church bells were removed from the church back in the 40's and there isn't another church close enough that the residents would hear. 2. In the 30's there was little local boy who was lured underneath a bridge in the area by a man. The man killed the boy by drowning him in the river underneath the bridge. He was caught, charged with the murder, and sent to jail. A few times a year EMS is called by people who walk by the bridge who say they hear a child yelling and screaming by the river. EMS goes out to bridge and they don't find anything, and nobody reports a missing child.