Will Storr has done some seriously bizarre and otherworldly things over the course of his career as a journalist. But even spending an entire day with Ozzy Osbourne wasn't as frightening as when he agreed to follow Philadelphia "demonologist" Lou Gentile on his appointed rounds. Will Storr never believed in ghosts—but his healthy skepticism couldn't explain the strange lights and sounds he witnessed, and the weird behavior of the occupants of several allegedly haunted houses.
What resulted is a confirmed cynic's (and proud of it!) dedicated search for answers in a shadowy world of séances, mediums, devil worshippers—even the Vatican's chief exorcist. So get ready to confront the genuinely creepy along with the hilariously ridiculous in Will Storr vs. the Supernatural!
Haunted America—Top 10 Most Haunted Places in America
Bachelor's Grove Cemetery, Chicago
The now-derelict Bachelor's Grove Cemetery is notorious amongst paranormalists everywhere as being one of the most haunted corpse-parks in the world. Under the weeds and rubble of the ruined tombs lie the remains of Windy City residents dating back to the 1844. Nobody has been buried here since 1965, when it was closed after falling into disrepair. The combined work of vandals, nature and local occultists have turned this small, one acre location into the very definition 'spooky', with it's cracked graves, gnarled bushes and bits of old candle, smashed crucifix and eviscerated virgin (probably) that local dabblers in the demonic have left behind. It's little wonder, then, that so much activity has been reported here. Most notably, a full female apparition who carries a baby in her arms (sometimes called 'the 'Madonna of Bachelor's Grove'), a replay of a farmer being dragged by his horse and plow into the now-stagnant pond (which was, apparently, a favoured cadaver-dump for mobsters in the 50's) and, weirdly, the ghost of a house which many people claimed to have seen whilst walking up the path that leads to the moody place. Startling displays of ghost lights are also said to be common here, including red lights that dart away so fast they leave a trail and blue orbs that bounce from tombstone to tombstone.
Alcatraz Island, San Francisco Bay
Pity those poor Miwok Indians who were lead, shackled and twitching with spasms of dread, onto Alcatraz Island as the first residents of the prison in 1859. Not only had they been sentenced to serve time on what was to become one of the United States' most dismal penitentiaries, but their particular tribe had feared the place for generations, convinced, as they were, that it was inhabited by evil spirits. And if the ghost chroniclers of San Francisco are to be believed, those wise old Native American elders might have been onto something. Alcatraz was turned from an army fort and prison into the largest reinforced concrete structure in the world in 1934. And, whether or not it was haunted in the days of the Miwok, many people claim that it is today, with the echoes of the inmates who were held here until it's closure in 1963.
And they were a tormented people indeed. Alcatraz was the destination for America's most dangerous criminals, and they were sent to the lonely rock for the State to have it's revenge. There was never even the pretence of rehabilitation. Prisoners were forbidden to talk, except for three minutes twice a day and two hours during the weekend as a special treat. Many, including Al Capone (who enjoyed playing his banjo, somewhat unaccountably, in the shower area), went mad, others were murdered or died from disease. Less ambitious types satisfied themselves with chopping off their own fingers with an axe. The guards were much more likely to beat you until you were a Picasso of body-parts, bubbles of blood blowing out of each one of your five nostrils, than they were to deliver you a decent breakfast. The most feared part of the complex was the four solitary confinement "holes" in Block D—numbered 11-14. Inmates were kicked in, stripped and chucked into these concrete boxes with nothing but bread to eat and a hole to shit in and the only thing they had to look forward to was a standard meal once every three days and, eventually, to being let out—back into the hellish warren of Alcatraz itself. Many, unsurprisingly, went totally mental after a stretch in the hole. Rufe McCain didn't though. He was forced to do an incredible three years and two months hole-time, after being caught trying to escape. And what did he do when he was eventually released? Keep his head down and his mouth shut (even during his three minutes chat-grace)? Make a grovelling apology to the chief warden? No, he found the man he was supposed to have escaped with - and he killed him.
Surprisingly, reports of supernatural oddery are not centred around Block D (with the exception, that is, of some ghost hunters feeling a little 'strange' in the powerfully evocative little man-boxes—hardly unexplained, that). Rather, tour guides have reported hearing locks bolting, doors slamming, men shouting, screams and footsteps in corridors, all after the complex had closed for the day. Cell 14-D, where McCain was stored is also, apparently, sometimes impossible to heat and the sound of banjo playing is heard in the shower area.
Hickory Hill, Equality, Illinois
The Old Slave house on Hickory Hill, near Harrisburg in Southern Illinois has had thoroughly grim history. It was built in 1842 by John Hart Crenshaw a man who took ruthless advantage of a local law permitting the use of slaves to work in the salt mines of Saline County—an allowance that, at the time, was thought necessary, as nobody that wasn't in chains and acting under threat of torture and death would ever dream of taking a job down there, no matter what the pay and perks. But his wholehearted embracing of this nasty bit of legal footwork wasn't enough evil for the dastardly Crenshaw. He started kidnapping free African Americans and putting them to work down his salty holes and then selling spares to slave-owners in the South. And, when he ran out of excess humans, he started breeding them himself, using a stud known as 'Uncle Bob' (and also, quite possibly, as 'Smiling Bob'). Bob is said to have fathered as many as 300 children and eventually passed away in 1948, at 112 years of age. The slaves were kept in the attic, which contained twelve cells and a whipping post. Each cell contained iron shackle-rings on the floor and tiny, barred windows. Ghostly activity often reported when the location was a tourist destination include spectral cries, whimpers and the sound of chinking chains. It's also reported that in the 1920's an exorcist named Hickman Whittington visited the house and died some hours after leaving. In the 1960's, two Vietnam vets who tried to spend the night in the attic claimed they were surrounded by black shadows, and ran from the building, screaming. Soon after this, the owner stopped allowing visitors to stay after dark.
McLoughlin House, Oregon City, Oregon
Commonly known as the 'Father of Oregon', McLoughlin founded the city in 1829. By all accounts a wise and altruistic man, he gave away 300 plots to needy settlers, schools and churches and was known to rescue pioneers who got themselves into trouble on the Oregon Trail. Despite all this, and his being a physician, mayor, councilman and a famously generous aid-giver, his wealth and Catholicism made him unpopular with the impoverished Protestant locals and when Congress decided they disapproved of his claim to the land, he received little in the way of support from the ungrateful bastards. He died in 1857, a bitter and dejected man who felt betrayed by the world and, very possibly, with the concept of karma. With his impressive height of six foot five inches, his hollow eyes and his flowing white hair, McLoughlin looked like a ghost, so it should have come as no surprise when, in the mid 1970's, strange things starting taking place in his old home. Sceptical curator Nancy Wilson felt a tap on her shoulder and, soon afterwards, several of her staff began reporting the sight of a tall and bulky black shadow walking along a corridor in one of the upper floors, and disappearing into McLoughlin's old bedroom. In the same hall, footsteps have been heard and pipe tobacco has been smelled. Elsewhere in the old building, a child's bed sometimes appears slept in when staff do their rounds before opening in the morning, tassled lampshades are seen to move in unlikely motions, sudden cries for help are heard as are loud, unexplained crashes.
The Lemp Mansion, St Louis, Missouri
Formerly the home of nineteenth century booze magnate William Lemp Snr and his mental family, this four storey, 34 room mansion is supposedly haunted to this day. William Senior's father, Johann Adam Lemp arrived in Missouri from Germany in 1838 and set up business brewing vinegar and lager-beer. He soon realised that the grateful locals found both of these products to be far tastier than the nasty English ale they'd been forced to drink up until then, but when they had the choice, their very favourite was the lager. So wise Johann stopped making vinegar altogether, and concentrated on the quick acquisition of a vast fizzy fortune. After his death in 1862, his son took over and, with his Donald Trump style business cunning, turned the company into world's largest brewery. At it's peak, it was chucking out 900,000 barrels a year from a plant that covered 11 city blocks. All was spiffy with the Lemps, until a large bad-luck-attack slashed across their collective lives, beginning in 1901 when, on a trip to Pasadena, the bright elder son Frederick suffered a series of debilitating illnesses which, ultimately lead to his coronary arrest and death. His mortally saddened father reacted by sinking into a thick depression and, pushed on by the death of his best friend Frederick Pabst in 1904, shot himself through the heart with a small calibre pistol. The business then passed to flamboyant son William Jnr who reacted to the 1919 prohibition laws by shrugging his shoulders, saying 'tch', closing the business and shooting himself with a small calibre pistol. But not before his sister, Elsa, became depressed and shot herself with a small cal¬¬ibre pistol. Then, in 1949, brother Charles walked into the mansion and shot his dog and then himself with a small cal– oh, you're waaaayy ahead of me.
The oppressive building was bought in the mid-seventies by Dick Pointer Junior who began turning it into a large restaurant and hotel. And this is when the haunting began in earnest. Horses hooves were heard clattering up the long grown-over path, workman's tools went missing, and some of them were so roundly spooked by the poltergeist activity that they ran out, never to return. When the renovation was complete, diners at the restaurant saw apparitions, glasses hovering above the bar and flying through the air and heard the sound of voices, doors locking and unlocking and a spectral piano.
Gettysburg, Pennsylvania
The battle that took place in and around the village of Gettysburg in July 1863 lasted for three days and was ruthless, bloody and hellish. Numerous ghosts are said to haunt the place nowadays and there is space here to list but a few spectral highlights. In the official 'battlefield' (the fighting, obviously, wasn't actually confined to this relatively small space) the sound of gunfire, shouting and weeping are often reported, as are sightings of fully uniformed apparitions. An entire battle was apparently witnessed by a group of visiting VIPs from Little Round Top. They assumed it was a bunch of local geeks having a re-enactment, until they discovered that nobody was actually down there. The suitably named 'Devil's Den' was, like Alcatraz, thought to be infested with evil back in the days of the Native Americans. The invading Europeans didn't do much to help matters by killing a load of people there and leaving their corpses lying about the Den. Sightings are, perhaps unsurprisingly, notably frequent here. Other locations to check out include Rose Farm (phantom fights and ghosts by gravestones), Hummelbaugh House (howling dog), Pennsylvania Hall (groans, shouts, apparition of an entire makeshift operating theatre), and George Weikert House (tricky door).
The Brown Mountains, North Carolina
The Brown Mountains are famous for their ghost lights. Visible for miles around, the staggering displays of orbicular oddness have drawn the attention of parapsychologists and conventional scientists alike. According to respected American spectre-expert Joshua P Warren, they have been investigated three times by the US government, once by the Weather Service and once by a team from the Smithsonian Institution and all to no avail. The most convincing sceptical explanation—that they are the result of local geological faults scraping and sparking and perhaps creating something like ball lightning—seems less likely in light of reports of the orbs appearing in many different colours, dancing about, splitting into three or four smaller orbs, which orbit around each other, or marching in straight lines along the ridge. Could these lights actually be the phantom remains of a violent battle that once took place in the area between Cherokee and Catawba Indians?
Winchester House, San Jose
Most houses become haunted through no fault of their own. Winchester House, however, was built by a lady (who I wish had been available for interview for this book . . . ), on the instructions of her dead husband (she chatted to him via Boston medium Adam Coons) for the sole purpose of being a sort of doss-house for the dead. By the time she'd finished construction 38 years later, Sarah Winchester had a house with 700 rooms, 950 doors and 10,000 windows over forty acres. The dark heart of this weird complex was The Blue Room, designed by dead spirits to be especially conducive to successful séances. Winchester would ring a bell in the tower three times a night to invite the floating souls in. Bad sorts were discouraged from entering by her cunning use of passageways with dead ends and various design paradiddles based around the number 13. Every so often, kindly Sarah would order her chefs and servants to lay on vast banquets, with solid gold plates and cutlery and five generous courses. Naturally, there were always thirteen places set and, also naturally, the only pre-mortal soul sat at the table would be Sarah herself. It is, perhaps, not a huge surprise to learn that Sarah was not a fan of actual living humans: she apparently sent both Theodore Roosevelt and Mary Baker Eddy on their way when they popped round for a tour. Harry Houdini was, however, permitted entry. He never spoke about the night he spent as a guest of Ms Winchester and her invisible friends. Sarah passed away to join her gang in September 1922 and her dying wish, for "the ghosts to continue to be welcomed and provided for", was apparently honoured: ghost lights and a female apparition have been seen floating in the corridors and whispers, slams and soft organ music is sometimes heard in the long-empty rooms.
The Nicholson Mansion, Indianapolis
Built in 1870 by a contractor for the Marion County Courthouse called David Nicholson, this impressive mansion was on the verge of demolition when, in 1997, it was saved by local enthusiasts and shifted, on two trailers, to a spare plot of land not far away. The town newspaper photographed the move and, when it published its story, was besieged by callers, all of whom had noticed what appeared to be the ghost of a girl gazing out of an upstairs window. Shortly after this, a policeman phoned up one of America's best known ghost hunters and asked him to have a poke about.
The house was still in two halves when Troy Taylor and his small team from the American Ghost Society arrived late in the afternoon. Two of them walked into the main section of the bisected building. They found nothing but a piano on the first floor, but on reaching a bedroom on the second floor, Taylor's EMF metre went beserk. This was especially strange as the house was completely unplugged—it had no electricity or water anywhere near it. Then, Taylor heard a shout. It was his colleague, Michael Barrett, calling from a back staircase. At the very moment Troy's EMF metre was hitting the red, a light that was hanging from the ceiling by a metal chain started swinging in a truly bizarre fashion. Taylor dashed to see what Barrett wanted and then the men watched in aghast fascination as the light swung back and forth, round in circles and even, every so often, stopped at an angle in mid air for a few beats before swinging on again. Eventually, it came to an extremely sudden halt. To this day, those long minutes remain the most baffling and unexplainable of Taylor's fifteen year career.
Pawleys Island, South Carolina
The story behind the sightings of a faceless grey man on Pawleys Island, off the coast of South Carolina, is as strange as it is unlikely. But, anyway, here goes . . . Back in the 18th Century, in the town of Charleston, there was a belle so beautiful that she could have had the pick of any of the bachelors in the neighbourhood. To the shame of her parents, however, she decided that out of all the men in Charleston, she wanted to marry her rogue cousin. Said cousin was then sent away to France, for fear of them shaming everyone with a litter of boss-eyed inbred babies. Despite his swearing solemnly that he would return and marry his beautiful true love, when he reached Europe, the cousin got himself involved in an unfortunate duel situation—and, as everyone knows, if there are two things Frenchmen are good at, it is cheese and duels . . . The belle was bereft but recovered soon enough, to marry another local widower. They were happy, and got into the habit of spending malaria season on Pawleys Island, just off the coast, where the gentle breeze kept the mosquitos at bay.
One day in 1778, when her husband was off doing his part in the American Revolution, a hurricane sunk a ship not far from the rocks of their summer island. That night, the sole survivor dragged himself onto dry land and to her front door, which she opened to discover . . . the incest-hungry heartbroken cousin. When he found out that she'd not waited for him, he fled, eventually dying of fever. The belle's husband returned, and they lived happily every after on their breezy bit of rock. Except, to the day that she died, she was troubled by regular sightings of a man who would lurk about the dunes and appear to be watching her.
Told you it was unlikely. But the phenomena that it seeks to explain is, apparently, all too real. The apparition of the man is still seen on the island whenever hurricanes are about to strike. Sightings have been reported before the storms of 1822, 1893, 1916, 1954 and 1955.
Sources: How To Hunt Ghosts by Joshua P Warren (Fireside), The International Directory of Haunted Places by Dennis William Hauck (Penguin), The Encyclopaedia of Ghosts and Spirits by Rosemary Ellen Guiley (Facts On File), Confessions of a Ghost Hunter by Troy Taylor (Whitechapel Productions)
Will Storr is a journalist who has dressed up as a woman to impress the transsexual leader of radical pro-suicide campaigners, trained in jungle warfare with the British army, and has been arrested and then deported under armed guard from Los Angeles. He has written for many publications in the UK and has won many awards. This is his first book.
336 pages
