Resurrection Mary, Chicago, Illinois

Drivers in Chicago have long reported encounters with a mysterious ghost near Resurrection Cemetery*. Sometimes the woman is encountered at the O Henry Ballroom, where she may accept a ride home from a dance partner only to vanish from the car when it passes the cemetery. Other times she is found hitchhiking along the road with the same results. The earliest reports, from the mid-1930s, tell of a young woman attempting to jump onto the running boards of passing vehicles.

Sometimes the encounters are more disturbing. Numerous people have reported hitting a young woman, complete with the thud and push that one would expect from such a collision, only to get out of their cars and find nobody lying on the road. Other drivers report hitting Mary, only to have her pass through the car and either vanish or run into the cemetery.

Most sightings are reported in the winter months, and at least one source claims that they are most likely to occur around 1:30 AM, the closing time of the O Henry Ballroom in 1934. She is a blond woman, always seen in a white dress, wearing dance shoes, and carrying a clutch-style purse.

On one occasion, in 1976, a cab driver reportedly saw a woman locked in the cemetery at night and reported this to the police, figuring that they could help her get out. When police officers arrived to help, they discovered the bars bent, and scorch marks that bore a resemblance to hand prints covering the bent bars. The cemetery explained that these were due to a work truck having hit the bars, and the truck's driver having used a blow torch to soften the bars in an attempt to bend them back into place. Regardless, the story became a media sensation.

Over time, a story explaining Mary's origins has developed. According to the story, she and her boyfriend were out dancing one winter's night in the early 1930s. They had a fight, and Mary decided to walk home. Along the way, she was struck and killed by a hit-and-run driver, and subsequently buried in Resurrection Cemetery. Ever since then, she has reportedly wandered the roads and ballrooms, looking for both a dance partner and a ride home.




*Really, what the hell kind of name for a cemetery is "Resurrection"? That's like naming a dry desert "China Lake"...oh, wait, that's been done, too.**

**Yes, I know that it's a dried pluvial lake bed.


Commentary: The guys at Hometown Tales are fond of pointing out that every urban legend occurs in multiple locations. While this is certainly true, Chicago's version of The Vanishing Hitchhiker is probably the world's best known version.

Stories of ghostly hitchhikers date back to antiquity, where they are picked up by a wagon or chariot rather than a car. Chicago appears to have a tradition of vanishing hitchhikers dating back at least to the 19th century. However, in the 1930s, tales of a ghostly woman associated with Resurrection Cemetery began to surface. Initially, the ghostly woman simply tried to jump onto the running boards of passing cars, but the tale of the vanishing hitchhiker named Mary soon developed.

The origin story appears to have appended to explain the ghost story, rather than being an original part. The identity of Mary, and whether or not her name really is Mary, is never clear. It is often suggested that Resurrection Mary may be the ghost of Mary Bregovy. Bregovy apparently would fit the bill in many regards, but while she was killed in a car accident, it occurred when she was thrown through the window during a collision in downtown Chicago. Likely, the stories of the ghostly hitchhiker began to surface, and they were later linked with the story of Bregovy's death.

Regardless of the story's origin, Mary has become one of the most-sighted ghosts around, and people routinely tell tales of encountering her. Sometimes the stories are as simple as seeing a mysterious woman vanish near the cemetery, and sometimes as complex as an evening of dancing and conversation followed by a ride home during which Mary vanishes or jumps out of the moving car and walks through the closed cemetery gates.

As a bit of a bonus, here's a video clip on the Vanishing Hitchhiker urban legend:






Sources: Prairie Ghosts,Internet, Internet, Internet

The Ghost in Old Town Pizza, Portland, Oregon

Nina was a low-class prostitute who worked in the always-wet basement of a high-priced Merchant Hotel on Davis Street in Portland. The circumstances of her death are not clear - some say that she was killed by a jealous lover, some that she was killed by a pimp when he discovered that she wished to leave prostitution, some that she had struck a deal with missionaries who offered to help her escape in exchange for information useful in shutting the brothel down, and still others claim that she simply heard something that she should not have heard.

Whatever the motive, she was found dead at the bottom of the hotel's elevator shaft, apparently having been killed by the fall. Although it is thought that she was murdered, her murderer was never caught or convicted - not surprising, considering that Portland was about as lawless a town as one could find in the west during the late 19th century.

Since the time of her death, Nina has been seen wandering the building, always wearing a black dress. The building is no longer a hotel, but is currently home to Old Town Pizza. Patrons and staff alike have reported smelling her sweet perfume, hearing voices, especially in the basement, and having objects move on them. The staff of the Portland Walking Tours, who run a ghost tour in downtown Portland, have placed a bowl full of scrabble pieces, and it is said that Nina will sometimes arrange the letters to spell out messages.

Commentary: Portland, rather like my own home of Santa Cruz, is a delightfully strange town. The flavor of the town is odd, embracing everyone from the straight-laced businessman to the itenerant artist struggling to make a name for herself. Portlands better known institutions and businesses cater to the intellectual (such as Powell's City of Books) to the just plain wacky (such as Voodoo Doughnuts, which not only offers voodoo-doll doughnuts, but will also perform wedding ceremonies). This story has become part of Portland's folklore and represents both the way that Portlanders view their town's past (both celebrating it's seediness and strangeness, and being happy to be distant from those days) and the nature of the tourist traffic that comes through Portland.

In a city like Portland, it's not surprising to see a business such as Old Town Pizza embrace it's local ghost story as a way of drumming up business. And teaming up with a walking tour company provides even more opportunity. To be fair, though, this place doesn't depend on it's curiosity value to attract business, it also makes damn good pizza.

Regardless of what experiences that people have had in and around the building, it goes without saying that the desire to use this as a business tool, both on the part of the tour company and the pizza parlor, has likely resulted in the stories being exaggerated, not to mention probably led to more than a few encounters due to little more than the power of suggestion. Of course, the admittedly creepy

Personal Experience: My girlfriend and I visited Portland last year, and knowing my enjoyment of ghost stories, she booked us two spots on the ghost tour.

The tour was run as an "investigation" - meaning that we were handed electromagnetic field meters (EMF meters, for short) and told to use them while we were in supposedly haunted places. Our guide, a rather adorable small woman whose name I can not for the life of me recall, spoke excitedly about the ghosts of Portland and her own personal experiences (I'll have more entries based on experiences from this tour in the future). The EMF meters tended to spike sporadically, as one would expect in a major city with numerous electrical devices scattered throughout the landscape. However, every time one spiked, our tour guide would talk about the usefulness of these devices in locating ghosts*.

By the time we arrived in the basement in which Nina is said to spend most of her time, Kay and I discovered how to manipulate the readings on the EMF meters by flicking our wrists in particular ways and standing under particular pieces of electrical equipment. The fact that we were clearly intentionall manipulating readings didn't sem to dampen our guides enthusiasm. Of course, she probably gets smart-asses like this on the tour all of the time, and the fact that she managed to maintain enthusiasm despite this really speaks well of her work ethic.



*I've never understood this, as I can see no reason to assume that ghosts would cause changes to electromagnetic fields, and even if they did, I have yet to hear of a ghost hunter actually using this equipment in such a way that stray signals from various different devices can actually be ruled out.

Photos: I took some photos during the tour, in the haunted basement, and here they are:


The bowl of scrabble pieces set out by the tour employees:



A photo from the haunted basement:



Another Photo from the haunted basement:




...and, apropo of nothing, looking up in the courtyard of the haunted building. This photo contributes nothing to the story, I'm just showing off:



Sources: Portland Walking Tours, Newspaper, Business Website

A Small Town Haunted House in Indiana

When I was a kid, there was an old house near the farm where I lived. It was abandoned, and had been for a long time. One day, a friend and I decided to investigate. We found a way in, and looked around the place. There was furniture there, and various stuff that belonged to whoever had lived there, but it was all dusty and kind of messed up.

We had this creepy feeling the entire time we were there, as if we were being watched, and it really creeped us out. After a little while, we got pretty scared and had to leave. As we left, we looked back at the house, and in the window on the top floor, we saw an old woman looking at us, watching us go. She looked angry.

I know what you are thinking, but nobody could have gotten into the place while we were in there. She hadn't been there before, and had to have been a ghost.

Commentary: This story is a personal account from an ex-girlfriend of mine. She grew up in a small town in rural Indiana, and like the kids from every town I know of, they had their local haunted house*. In this case it was a an abandoned, or assumed abandoned, farmhouse.

These locations are often the object of legend trippers, usually kids or adolescents, either looking for a thrill, to impress their peers, or on a dare. Typically these excursions are harmless, though they may result in property damage if the legend trippers are of a malicious bent. However, if the location is not as abandoned as it is thought, the legend trippers may find themselves running afoul of trespassing laws.



*In my home town, the local "haunted house" was actually a church that had fallen into disrepair. It was eventually restored and became a community fixture, which makes me wonder what the current "haunted house" in the neighborhood is. Maybe I should ask my nephews.

Sources: Personal Account

A Haunted House in New Albany, Indiana

I was living in a house in New Albany, Indiana. I had rented a room in the basement, and my room only had one light source. Despite the fact that I had only one light source, and could clearly see if there was anything in front of it, I would frequently see unexplained shadows moving across the walls. I always felt kind of creeped out at that place.

Eventually, a man who had been a healer in the Creek tribe came to live in the house. One day he approached me and said "hey, man, we need to talk."

"Talk about what?" I asked.

"About the things flying through the air."

Right about then, the shadows began moving on the wall. "You mean those?" I asked.

"Yep. Those."

............

On another occasion, I was in the bathroom shaving, using an adjustable mirror, when I saw a girl, probably a teenager, leaning against the doorway to the bathroom. I tried talking to her, and she just vanished.

..............

Eventually I asked the other people in the house about these happenings, and they all had stories. One person regularly saw people who appeared and vanished. One woman would leave the house having turned her computer off, only to return and find the computer turned on, and weird, cryptic messages typed on the screen.

Commentary: In many ways, this is a typical haunted house story - the house is host to many different repetitive events, none of which appear to be connected to each other, but all of which are found in the same location. Unlike many other haunted house stories, the events appear to have happened to each person uniquely - nobody experiencing anyone else's weirdness - although there was the shared experience of the shadows on the walls.

Regardless, the odd personal stories instead of a single communal story or single theme for the stories is interesting. What it means, if anything, is unclear.


Sources: Personal Account

In Need of a Spirit House

I was travelling in Thailand with friends. We noticed that many houses had a small pagoda on a platform outside of the house, and we asked what it was. We were told that it was a "spirit house", a shrine where spirits could live so that they wouldn't bother the people who lived in the actual house.

While we were travelling, we stayed at the home of a British ex-patriot who owned several houses and cabins on a piece of property. Unlike the Thai homes that we had seen, his property did not have a spirit house. We thought that this was interesting, but didn't make anything of it.

The first night that we were there, I was laying in bed with my friend Dawn. We heard the dog growling outside, so I got up to see what he was growling at. When I opened the door and looked to where he was growling, I say nothing. He continued to growl for a little while, maybe five minutes, and then whimpered and took off. I thought this was strange, but didn't make anything of it.

I went back to bed, and picked up the book I was reading. Then I started to hear the movement of the hammocks that had been strung up ont he patio, and heard some other noises I couldn't identify. After a few seconds of this, the lights turned off - and these lights were controlled by an old-fashioned switch, one that took some real force to turn off.

Maybe the owner should have set up a spirit house.

Commentary: This story came from a coworker who had spent a considerable amount of time travelling in Asia.

The belief in household spirits, whether conceived as the ghosts of the ancestors, the household gods (such as in ancient Rome), or as the spirits of nature is common across many cultures and across time. Religions and folklore that attest to the existence and importance of these beings ranges from ancient Rome to modern Asia, and appears to have been a strong element in many ancient versions of modern religions.

The measures necessary to appease or curry favor with these spirits likewise varies across time and space. In some cultures, it is necessary to give them their own dwelling place and make offerings. In others, veneration through prayer is necessary. Regardless, in most of these places, stories about what happens to those who fail to make proper respects indicate that the spirits will act malevolently, whether through acts of mischief and nuisance, or through more sinister actions including injury and death.

Sources: Personal Account

The Phantom Hand

I lived for a time in Richmond, Virginia. One night, while lying in bed, I felt a hand grab my ankle. After a moment, it let go. I looked down to see what was going on, and I saw a hand slowly sinking down below the edge of the matress, as if someone was under the bed. I cowered in the bed for a few moment, but finally worked up the courage to look under the bed. When I did, it was empty - nothing and no one there.

I ran out of the room and into the next room, where my housemates were talking. As soon as they saw me, one of them said "wow, you look like you've seen a ghost."

Commentary: This is a personal account from a coworker, one that I heard earlier today. When I first heard it, I loved the story, but wasn't sure what to put in the commentary. After all, it isn't tied to a particular storied location, nor is it part of local folklore, the story doesn't seem to serve any particular social purpose, and I have already written about the ghost sightings of sleeping people.

But, damn, it's a good story. And then it hit me - why not talk about what makes it a good ghost story?

Well, for starters, it's short - not a requirement (some very good stories are not short), but it helps the teller to keep the attention of the audience. And there is another element - that the hand was not simply felt, but seen. Creepiness within a story depends on a delicate balance. Too little detail and it's just someone shooting their mouth off and insisting that something mundane isn't. Too much detail, and the story becomes ponderous, and often sinks under it's own weight into a see of incredulous nonsense.

But just the right amount of detail...

See, if my coworker had simply stated that he felt something grip his leg, I would have nodded my head, collected the story in my personal notes, maybe eventually posted it here, but not given it much further thought. If he had claimed to have seen something under the bed, well, it might have been creepy, but it could just as easily left me rolling my eyes.

But seeing the hand,and then having it vanish...well, everyone in the truck this morning shivered a bit when that part of the story was told, and it helped that the storyteller used his own hand to illustrate how the phantom hand moved. It was creepy, unnerving, and you could tell by the grin on his face that the coworker loved the effect that this story was having on us.

Sources: Personal Account

The Big Yellow House, Summerland, CA

The Big Yellow is a Santa Barbara County landmark. Visible from Highway 101 as it passes through the small town of Summerland, the house is visible to anyone passing between Santa Barbara and Ventura (of course, this visibility is helped slightly by the enormous sign calling attention to the house, but whatcha' gonna' do?). The Big Yellow House gained prominence as an up-scale local restaurant, but is currently closed (though it is slated to be re-opened as the less-descriptively named "Yellow Rose of Summerland").

The house, originally a private residence turned eatery, is reportedly home to numerous spirits, and is often described as one of the "most haunted places in California" (ever notice that almost everywhere with a ghost story seems to get the label "most haunted"?). One ghost, a spirit named Hector who dwells in the basement and in the upstairs library, was described by the author Rod Latham in his book The Spirit of the Big Yellow House. Another commonly reported ghost is that of a woman dressed in 19th century garb who can be found in the first floor women's restroom. Other than that, mysterious voices, creepy feelings, and other symptoms of haunted houses are routinely reported.

The ghosts, however, don't appear to have hurt business - bad service was more often the cause of business problems. Indeed, in the face of often bad service and a difficult location, ghosts often seemed to have been one of the main draws for this place.


Commentary: The town of Summerland sits on a beautiful stretch of coast in southern Santa Barbara County. The community was founded as a colony for members of the Spiritualist religion, who believed that spirits of the dead could communicate with the living, providing information, guidance, and wisdom. It is therefore not surprising that the area quickly became a hotbed for ghost sightings.

The decline of the town as a spiritualist center came as a result of many factors, among them the fading of spiritualism as a religious movement (though it still survives today, it's hey day was the mid-late 19th century) and the discovery of oil natural gas in the area, leading to conflict between the spiritualists and oilmen.

The Big Yellow House began as the residence of Henry Lafayette Williams, and served as the headquarters for the colony. I have not been able to find any information regarding the ghosts said to inhabit the house, outside of rough description (though, I must admit, I have not yet read Latham's book, as I have not been able to lay hands on a copy), and therefore I have little to discuss about them.

What was interesting to me when I lived in Santa Barbara, however, was the ambivalent way in which the management of the house treated the ghost stories. They never discouraged them, which was probably wise as the stories were a draw for people who otherwise might not be interested in dining there (I even once brought a date there myself, as we were both curious about the stories). However, the management also never seemed to go out of their way to encourage the stories - which was probably unnecessary as they had become prominent in the local folklore.


Sources: Internet, Internet, Newspaper, Richard Senate