Welcome to this week's Link Dump!

Everyone here at Strange Company HQ wishes you a happy Halloween!

The plague that may not have happened.

The lawyer who led the Nuremberg prosecutions.

Why we just can't kill off the Frankenstein monster.

The still-mysterious Halloween death of Harry Houdini.

A brief history of the haunted house.

A woman's unsolved murder.

The controversy over "The Telepathy Tapes."

The Americas' oldest book.

We want a world full of happy bees!

Look, when you choose to film a movie about demonic possession, don't come crying to me when things get weird.

Look, when you choose to have archaeological exhibits, don't come crying to me when people leave ancient body parts on your doorstep.

The year when Italy was invaded by UFOs.

A rejected suitor turns to murder.

The ghosts of English Heritage sites.

In 1907, a man walked on a lot of water.

A ghostly catfight in London.

A famous archaeological hoax.

The blue dogs of Chernobyl.

A homicidal babysitter.

A haunted church on Halloween night.

Tod Browning's enduring "Freaks."

The first women to survive Caesarean deliveries.

The bacteria that killed Napoleon's troops in Russia.

When the Devil really made them do it.

We have a lot to thank Jupiter for.

The life of Valentina Visconti, Duchess of Orleans.

The actor who is most famous for being kidnapped.

A midnight ramble with Teddy Roosevelt.

The history of the word "fawning."

An undertaker gets a bad fright.

An explosion in Portsmouth, 1809.

That's all for this week!  See you on Monday, when we'll hear a cautionary tale about stealing skulls.  In the meantime, here's a fun cover.

Via Newspapers.com

All I’ll say is, 1913 was a lousy year for Halloween festivities.  On November 1 of that year, the “Arkansas Democrat” gave a roundup of the body count:

Chicago, Nov. 1.-Two boys are dead because of Halloween pranks played here last night. While trying to pull down an arc light, Morgan Campbell, fifteen years old, came in contact with a charged wire and was instantly electrocuted. Tomaso La Quinto died in a hospital from injuries received when he was knocked down by a fire department wagon which was answering a false alarm some joker had turned in.

Oklahoma City, Nov. 1-A Halloween prank was responsible for the near. death of M.L. Turner, president of the Western National Bank, Judge R. F. Loofburrow of the Supreme Court; C. A. Galbraith of the Supreme Court Commission, Attorney E. E. Blake and a chauffeur last night. The five men were riding north in a speeding automobile on Classen boulevard when the machine crashed into a telephone pole which Halloween merrymakers had laid across the boulevard. M.L. Turner was picked up unconscious 100 feet from where the machine struck the pole. The other occupants of the car were badly shaken. Turner will recover.  The machine was wrecked. 

Chicago, Nov. 1.-Mrs. Hulda Ewart, fifty-two years of age, and her daughter, Mrs. Alma Stenerson, aged thirty-two, both widows, died of heart disease last night. The daughter died at a Halloween party within half an hour after being taken ill.  The mother, notified of her illness, started to join her and dropped dead on the street corner.

Knoxville, Tenn., Nov. 1-Walter Lane, seventeen years old, was shot and killed last night as the result of a Halloween prank. A number of boys had placed a wagon upon a street car track on Third avenue. When the car approached the trolley was removed from the wire and the motorman and conductor with passengers pulled the wagon from the track. Subsequently someone fired a pistol and Lane fell mortally wounded. The motorman and conductor of the cars were arrested and placed in jail.  They deny having fired the shot. A pistol was found in a sandbox inside the car.

Kansas City, Nov. 1.- A boy's Halloween prank last night caused trouble for the police and the fire department. He spied a telephone cable spool in the street. A little block of wood held it from rolling downhill. The boy waited until he was sure there were no policemen watching then removed the block. The cable spool started slowly, but as the great cylinder, six feet in diameter and weighing a thousand pounds, rolled on its momentum increased.

Just before it reached Twelfth street, which was crowded with motor cars and pedestrians, it was traveling thirty miles an hour. Then it crashed against a water plug. The hydrant was snapped off at the base and the rushing water shot into the door of a saloon. The water flowed down the street, which was crowded with motor cars.  It took the fire and water departments two hours to stop the flood and restore order.

This Friday, it might be wisest to just stay at home and eat all the candy yourself.

As Halloween is this week, it seems appropriate to look at an unsolved crime that seems straight out of a seasonal horror movie.

57-year-old Myrtle Morgan of Chattanooga, Tennessee, led a quiet, modest life.  She had been married for years to George Morgan, although he had not resided in their home for some years.  George had suffered injuries while fighting in World War One that eventually required long-term professional care.  For the past ten years, he was a patient at Murfreesboro Veterans Hospital, while Myrtle, who had apparently never worked, subsisted on George’s small disability payments from the military.  Myrtle lived with her daughter, Jacy, and Jacy’s husband Price Stephens, whom everyone called “Buster.”  She also had a son, Jarvis, who was in the military, but had been visiting her on leave.

On the evening of October 31, 1953, Myrtle was alone in the house.  Jacy and Jarvis had taken Price’s nine-year-old sister Betty and Betty’s friend Carolyn to go roller-skating.  Price was having dinner with a neighbor.  Just after 7 p.m., Myrtle phoned a friend for a casual chat.  As the women were talking, Myrtle suddenly said. “Wait a minute.  I heard a noise.  I think it’s Buster’s dirty-faced cat.”

Myrtle put down the receiver to investigate the sound, but she never returned to the phone.  After some minutes went by without Myrtle replying to her friend’s increasingly anxious shouts to her, the woman told her daughter to monitor the phone while she went to a neighbor’s house to ask police to do a welfare check.  However, soon after she left, Myrtle’s phone went dead.

As the police were arriving at Myrtle’s home, Price returned from his dinner.  After officers explained why they were there, Price tried opening the front door, but it was locked from within.  He was finally able to enter the home through an unlatched window, after which he was able to let police in through the front door.

They found an overturned chair in the living room (which was also Myrtle’s bedroom.)  The phone, which was in its cradle, was ringing.  When Price answered it, he heard the voice of Myrtle’s friend, anxious to know what was going on.  Price told her they didn’t know yet, and hung up.  When they reached the kitchen, they found Myrtle’s dead body on the floor.

"Chattanooga Times," November 1, 1953, via Newspapers.com

Myrtle was lying on her back, with a quilt over the body.  Although her dress and underclothing were badly torn, there was no sign she had been sexually assaulted.  However, all sorts of other brutalities had been inflicted on the poor woman.  Her nose and other facial bones had been badly broken, along with her jaw.  Her skull had been fractured badly enough to cause a brain hemorrhage.  There was a hole the size of a 32 caliber bullet through her upper jaw, which initially led to the assumption that she had been shot.  However, there was no exit wound, and no bullets were found in her body, leaving the cause of this wound uncertain.  Although it was theorized that Myrtle had been attacked with some sort of blunt instrument, the murder weapon was never determined.  It was believed that she had died sometime between 7:17--the time when she told her friend about the noise--and 7:25.  Investigators speculated that the murderer entered the home through the unlocked front door and secured the door’s sliding lock.  When Myrtle encountered the intruder, she was chased down the hallway into the kitchen, where the attack took place.  The killer then exited through a broken rear window.  A dresser in Myrtle’s living room/bedroom had been ransacked, although it was unknown what, if anything, had been taken from it.

This proved to be one of those particularly unsettling murders where investigators were utterly unable to come up with a motive for the crime, let alone a suspect.  (It didn’t help matters that the police failed to protect the home, allowing a large crowd of trick-or-treating looky-loos to spend a particularly morbid Halloween gawking at the murder scene.)  No one who knew Myrtle had any idea why someone would want to bludgeon her to death.  All the known burglars in the area were investigated, but nothing was found linking any of them to the killing.  In the weeks before the murder, there had been five rape or attempted rape cases in the area, so it was naturally suspected that this assailant (who appears to have never been caught) was also responsible for Myrtle’s murder, but that theory was fated to remain unproven.

Myrtle’s husband and children have long since passed on, but in the Chattanooga area, at least, this chilling mystery is still very much alive.

Halloween is a day of ghosts, witches, goblin cats…and occasionally, as the case below will demonstrate, an eerie real-life mystery.

16-year old Pamela Hobley and Patricia Spencer, who was a year younger, were high school students in Oscoda, Michigan.   The public learned relatively little about the girls, but they appeared to be normal, unremarkable middle-class teenagers.  Pamela was engaged to be married, but I presume the wedding was intended to be in the distant future.  There were rumors that the girls liked to party and did a bit of experimenting with drugs and alcohol, but if so, that does not seem to have had any major negative impact on their lives.

Pamela Hobley

On October 31, 1969, some anonymous idiot decided to celebrate the holiday by phoning a bomb threat to the girls’ high school.  It was believed to be a mere hoax, but Pamela and Patricia signed out of school early.  They were seen walking away from the building at around 2 p.m.  The fact that they left together was considered odd.  The girls knew each other, but were not considered friends.  Neither of them had their purses or any other belongings with them.  

Both the girls had plans to attend a homecoming game that evening, followed by a Halloween party, so when Pamela’s mother, Lois, and younger siblings returned home from trick-or-treating, they were not surprised that she was not at home.  They only started to worry when Pamela’s boyfriend phoned, asking why she was not at the party.  Lois began phoning the families of other students, but none of them had seen Pamela.  When she reached the Spencer home, and learned that Patricia was missing as well, Lois contacted police.

Patricia Spencer

This was one of those missing-persons cases where investigators had almost nothing to work with.  At first, police assumed the girls had simply run away, but if such was the case, why did neither of them take even the basics like money or ID?  Also, both the girls seemed happy enough with their lives, with no discernible reason to disappear.  Police believed that after leaving the high school, Pamela and Patricia hitched a ride to Oscoda’s downtown area, but after that, it was as if they simply walked into oblivion.  We have no reliable clues for what subsequently became of either girl.

There is one odd footnote to this disturbingly vague case:  Shortly before the girls disappeared, an old boyfriend of Patricia’s named Francis Tebo got into some sort of trouble with the law, which caused him to be sent to Whitmore Lake Boys’ Training School.  In November 1969, he underwent an appendectomy in a Detroit hospital.  Soon after the operation, Francis ran away from the hospital and vanished.  At first, there was speculation that Francis’ disappearance was somehow linked to the Hobley/Spencer mystery, but it appears that the boy was subsequently traced, and police were able to satisfy themselves that he knew nothing about the two girls.  

Police learned that in 1968, one of the girls had, without her knowledge, been given a drugged drink by an airman at nearby Wurtsmith Air Force Base, after which she was found “in the woods having hallucinations.”  (The airman was subsequently convicted of the crime.)  However, no one could find any connection between this incident and the girls’ disappearance.

Despite the long passage of time, police are still hoping to solve the case.  Over the years, they have pursued various leads, but without any success.  The girls’ remaining family members are also actively searching for answers, but at least some of their relatives are convinced Pamela and Patricia were murdered soon after they vanished.  Pamela’s sister Mary Buehrle, who was eight when her sibling vanished, told a reporter in 2023 that "We watched my mom on her deathbed and she saw Pam.”

 

"The Witches' Cove," Follower of Jan Mandijn

The staff here at Strange Company HQ is ready for Halloween!

This Halloween ghost story with a twist appeared in the “Caledonian Mercury,” November 8, 1828.  (Via Newspapers.com)

A spiritual visitant, as was supposed, for some days lately afforded subject of wonderment to the natives of the port of Leith. In a house in the Kirkgate, there was heard the  most appalling and unearthly noises, succeeded by the tumbling-about of articles of furniture, after which a momentary, calm would ensue; but ere the inmates could set all to rights, the uproar would recommence with, increased vigour, yell following yell, and crash succeeding crash, till confusion was worse confounded in the devoted domicile. Friday se'en-night, being the high festival of spirits, witches, &c. (Halloween) the Leith ghost is said to have exceeded all former exploits. These cantrips, it is hardly necessary to add, occurred during the night; and when a neighbour, more venturous than wise, volunteered his service to assist in laying the goblin, he received a sound buffeting from an invisible but powerful arm. We have heard that ghostly advice was called in by the alarmed inmates, but without effect: for while two clergymen were engaged in devotions, they were assailed by a shower of missiles, one of which, a table knife, stuck into the floor close by them, but this of course, needs confirmation.  Certain it is, however, that crowds collected around the house where these doings were going on night after night  and the attention of the Police was at length directed to the subject. These guardians of the night were not to be frightened by deeds of darkness like ordinary daylight mortals; their presence soon laid the spirit, while their sagacity shortly discovered the mischievous goblin in the person of a female member of the house, who, in conjunction with a professor of the conjuring art, had been endeavouring to practice on the fears of her father, for a sinister purpose in which she and her assistant were mutually interested. She has, we are told, been sent to jail for 30 days.

Assuming this solution to the mystery is true, and this woman wasn’t being used as a scapegoat for a genuine poltergeist infestation, I'd like to know what that “sinister purpose” was.

"Staunton News-Leader," November 1, 1967, via Newspapers.com

The cold-blooded shooting of Dr. William Eugene Lynn is probably still the strangest unsolved murder in Rappahannock County, Virginia’s history.  What makes this seemingly completely senseless crime even more eerie is the fact that it happened on Halloween night, that traditional time for ghosts, demons, and other sinister creatures to freely walk the earth.  One has to wonder if the assassin chose the date deliberately.

54-year-old William Lynn appeared to lead an unblemished life.  He was happily married, had three well-adjusted children, and was a fine doctor.  Dr. Lynn was, in short, both well-liked and respected--a “real old-fashioned family physician,” according to a colleague. However, there was at least one person, who, for reasons still unknown to us, thought differently about the doctor.

On October 31, 1967, after an uneventful day at his Front Royal practice, Lynn and his wife Clydetta--a trained nurse who worked with him--drove home.  They arrived at about 6:30 p.m., amid near total darkness.  When Lynn rounded the curve of his driveway, he saw that his way was blocked by several large bushel baskets--some harmless holiday “trick,” they presumed.  Dr. Lynn paused the car to allow Clydetta to get out of the car and clear the path.

Clydetta had almost reached the baskets when a man suddenly appeared from behind a bush and fired a gun into the driver’s side window of Lynn’s car.  Mrs. Lynn immediately felt a sharp pain (later determined to be flying glass from the car.)  “Gene!” Clydetta cried.  “I think I’ve been shot!”

When she got closer to the car, she saw that she had not been the shooter’s target.  Her husband was slumped over the wheel, covered in blood.  Before she could do anything, Dr. Lynn’s foot slipped off the brake, sending the car rolling backwards down the driveway.  Fortunately, she was able to stop the auto before it went careening into State Route 522.  Clydetta did what she could to stop her husband’s bleeding, while blowing the horn and screaming for help from her mother and one of her daughters, who were in the house at the time.  It was all futile.  The doctor had died almost instantly.  By the time authorities arrived on the scene, the killer had plenty of opportunity to escape into the long darkness of that fall night.

This was one of those seemingly motiveless crimes that tend to baffle even the most acute detective.  Police did a searching examination of the dead man’s private life, hoping to come up with some reason why someone would assassinate him in such a particularly chilling fashion.  However, they came up empty.  William Lynn was that relative rarity in murder cases: someone who really was as nice and blameless as he seemed.  If he had a dark side, or unpleasant secrets, he kept them very well hidden indeed.

Although the Lynn case is still technically open, chances are obviously slim that his killer will ever be positively identified, let alone brought to justice.  However, a retired state police officer named Harry Will, one of the investigators of the murder, believed he had solved the mystery--to his own satisfaction, at any rate.  Many years after Lynn’s death, he told a reporter that he believed the doctor was murdered by an unnamed man who was currently serving a life sentence for a particularly vicious attack on a young woman.  Will suspected that this man had committed not only the Lynn murder, but several other unsolved slayings in the area as well.  This man had been seen in the general area of Lynn’s home, buying a box of shotgun shells.

Harry Will even believed he knew why this man had killed Lynn, and it is one of the more bizarre alleged motives on record.  Will’s suspect had originally lived in a neighboring county, but he fled after being accused of setting several fires.  He found refuge with an uncle who lived near Front Royal.  This relative not only gave him a home, but defended him, no matter what he did.  A few months before Lynn was shot, this uncle developed cancer of the penis, which necessitated a partial amputation of the organ.  Will explained, “Our suspect was a sex pervert and had voiced his opposition to having sex organs disturbed.”  Presumably, according to Will’s theory, the man took his outrage at the medical profession out on Dr. Lynn. 

As a postscript, there is a story which suggests that mere death did not mean the end of Lynn’s medical practice.  In the early 1990s, a Front Royal man was badly injured in an auto crash that put him in a coma.  Doctors did not believe he would survive.  According to Lynn’s daughter Patty--who heard the story from the patient’s mother--the man suddenly woke up and said, “I just saw Dr. Lynn and he gave me a shot.”  This man--who was only five when the doctor was murdered--described him as wearing clothing which was identical to items that Lynn wore in life.  After getting the “shot,” the man stunned everyone by fully recovering.

Perhaps the doctor wanted to save a life, to compensate for the one that had so suddenly and inexplicably been taken from him.

I’ve posted a number of Halloween cautionary tales on this blog, but I doubt I’ve shared a weirder one than this.  From the “Cork Mercantile Chronicle,” November 22, 1802, via Newspapers.com:

The sports of Halloween have been described by the fascinating Burns, but, whether in a way to deter from indulging in them, admits of a doubt.  That they have, in more than one instance, terminated lately, we have heard that they did so, in one instance, and that so late as last week we know--We give the following particulars from authority, and our informant trusts that they will prove a warning to inconsiderate youth to betake themselves to amusements more rational, and less likely to be attended with unpleasant consequences to themselves:

The ceremony of sowing hempseed on Halloween, is known to most of our readers.  A young girl of the name of Mabel Carr, servant to Mr. Mathewson, type-founder, would needs have her Halloween on Monday week; and, notwithstanding the earnest remonstrances of her master, who represented the impropriety and absurdity of prying into the secrets of futurity, she would not be dissuaded from sowing her hempseed on that night.  About ten o’clock she accordingly went into the foundry alone, with a light in her hand, which she placed on one of the tables while she performed her incantations.  She walked through the shop several times pronouncing aloud the words used on such occasions and so anxious was she to see something, as she termed it, that having seen nothing, she gathered up the seed to sow it a second time.  In the course of this second sowing, according to her own account, a tall meagre figure presented itself to her imagination!  She shrieked aloud, and ran immediately into the house, all the doors being open.  After relating all that she had seen, she went to bed, placing the Bible under her head!  She rose on Tuesday, and went through the labours of the day in apparent good health; but in the evening appeared somewhat timid.  She, however, had her supper, as usual, and went to bed, without any symptoms of fear.  Next morning she was called, but did not answer; again was called, but still no answer.  A daughter of Mr. Mathewson’s then rose, went to her, and found that she was very sick, and that she had been so during part of the night.  Tea was ordered for her, but before it could be prepared, she was seized with a stupor; the pulse became sunk, and breathing difficult, and the hands swollen and blackish.  A Medical Gentleman was instantly called.  He said, it was an attack of an apoplexy which she could not survive more than ten minutes; and in rather less than that time she expired, the blood bursting from her nose, mouth, etc.  The surgeon, on being informed of the transactions of Monday night, was clearly of opinion, that the impression made on her imagination by the fancied apparition was the cause of this fatal catastrophe.

We have given the particulars of this unfortunate affair so minutely, because reports, injurious to a very worthy man, have gone abroad on the subject.  It has been stated that one of Mr. Mathewson’s men concealed himself in the foundery, to alarm the girl during her foolish probation.  It is false.  Mr. M.’s people leave off work at eight o’clock; this happened at ten; and there was not a soul within the shop but herself.  It has been further stated, that she fell into a faint on the appearance of the fancied spectre, and was left to die in that situation.  It will be seen, from the above authentic statement, that this is an absolute falsehood, and a most malicious one.

So, however, you celebrate Halloween this year, avoid the hempseed.  Unless, of course, you want to see something.

And now that I think of it, if you read this blog, you probably do.

Via Newspapers.com

As I've mentioned before, Wales has produced many of my favorite ghost tales, and the following is a wonderful example of the breed. From the "Paducah Sun," October 31, 1983:

Conwy, Wales - The ghost of a knight bent on revenge supposedly stalks a bedroom.

The moans of a young doctor he swore to kill are said to issue from deep within walls.

A mysterious child appears, only to vanish.

It's all part of the haunted heritage of Plas Mawr, a stone-walled triple-storied manor house with 365 windows and 52 doors that's long been a landmark in this castle-town on the Irish Sea. Some of the ghostly goings-on are recounted in the guidebook to the house, built in 1577. The rest is happily told to visitors by Leonard Mercer, curator of the dwelling now headquarters for the Royal Cambrian Academy of Art. Mercer's story about the mystery child is the spooky stuff of which Halloween is made.

"Two or three years ago, a woman who visited the house became visibly upset," he began.

"She suddenly saw this girl dressed in blue in the reception room and claimed that what she saw was herself as a child."

Shaken by the child who uttered not a word, the woman went for her husband, who was in another room. The couple returned. The girl was gone. About three weeks later, according to Mercer, another woman said she, too, saw a small child, dressed in blue. Again, witnesses were summoned. Again, no girl. More sightings were reported, one by a teenager who worked for a while at the old Elizabethan house hung with paintings and adorned with ancient antiques.

"She saw this figure go by one day and looked to see a girl dressed in blue, with a blue hat.

"She thought it was my daughter, Sharon, but Sharon wasn't in the house," said Mercer.

He says neither the first woman nor the second woman to report sightings knew each other. Nor did the teen know the women.

"They were independent sightings," said Mercer. "But in all cases, the description of the girl was the same. She was dressed in blue and appeared to be about three or four years old."

So who or what is the ghostly girl? The age may offer a clue. The knight's pregnant wife was holding their three-year-old child when she slipped and fell down some stairs, causing a doctor to be summoned to the house. That ghost story is told in the guidebook, which says it happened in mid-November toward the end of the 16th century.

The knight a descendent of the fierce Welsh warrior-prince Owain Gwynedd, had been away at war for six months. His spouse was in the watch tower of Plas Mawr, hopefully scanning the horizon for any sign of his return.

The knight did not know she was with child.

Darkness had descended the woman ventured down from her lofty station. She stumbled and fell, seriously injuring herself and the little girl.

Immediately, the housekeeper had them brought to a bed in the Lantern Room and sent for the family doctor, an elderly, experienced physician. The doctor came and left, telling the housekeeper to keep a close watch over the woman and her child.

Later, the housekeeper became worried and called for the doctor again. He wasn't in. His young assistant, Dr. Dick, was available and came instead. The guidebook says Dr. Dick possessed "a highly nervous temperament" and was doubtless excited about such a dangerous case. Alarmed, he decided to fetch the old doctor. The housekeeper refused to let him go, bolted the door and sent another man.

"In a short time, after momentarily expecting his return, she became aware of an awful stillness in the Lantern Room," says the book. A storm swirled around the old gray stone house, adding more eeriness to the episode. The housekeeper called out through the door. There was no reply. Then she heard heard heavy footsteps cross the banqueting hall and ascend the stairs.

It was the knight, who just then arriving home, brushed the housekeeper aside and rushed into the room. The dying embers of a fire in the hearth and a flickering lantern exposed a terrible sight. The little girl was dead on a couch by the window. Her mother was dead on the bed, a baby, prematurely born, lay dead beside her.

"Who has been here?" the guidebook says the knight pleaded.

"Dr. Dick is somewhere in the room," the old woman replied, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Enraged, the knight drew his sword. But Dr. Dick was nowhere in sight.

"Leave me, leave me! I'll never leave this room again until I've been revenged on Doctor Dick. Daylight will tell the story!"

With that cry, the knight pushed the housekeeper out of the room.

"He shut the door and paced the room heavily for hours with repeated exclamations of sorrow and anger, till at last, with one wild cry of bitter anguish, he expired at the foot of the bed on which his dead wife lay," quoth the guidebook.

When the poor housekeeper opened the door at daylight she saw the lord, his lady and their children, all dead. The windows were shut tightly, too, but still no Dr. Dick.

"He may have tried to escape up a chimney or through various passages from the chimneys that run throughout the house," said Mercer. "He may have become lost or overcome with smoke and died. At any rate, he was never seen again."

Yet the the guidebook says on "stormy nights when the wind and rain, thunder and lightning are fightinh for mastery with each other, the tormented moans of poor Dr. Dick may be heard coming from within the walls.

And why didn't the old doctor come back? The man the housekeeper sent for him "was seized by a press gang and hurried off to a vessel in the harbour, which immediately put to sea."

He didn't return to Conwy until 50 years later. Only then did he learn what had happened that horrible night.

via Newspapers.com

As the writer of this AP story suggests, this story would indeed make an excellent first act for a Halloween movie: volunteers move into an old residence to create a holiday-themed "haunted house," and then begin to realize they have the real thing on their hands...

"The Pantagraph," October 31, 1988:

It reads like a script from a drive-in movie. Volunteers turn a vacant home into a haunted house for Halloween visitors, but end up getting scared by lights that mysteriously turn themselves on, tools that move and doors that seem to unlock by themselves.

"When I first walked into the house I had an eerie feeling. The hair stood up on my arms and I didn't even want to go in," parent volunteer Rita Rledel said yesterday. Mrs. Reidel was one of several adults who helped the Swansea Black Knights Drum and Bugle Corps transform an old brick house on a corner in this Southern Illinois town into a haunted house for their sixth annual Halloween fund-raising project.

This year's house, donated for the project by local owners who live elsewhere, seemed haunted from the start, though its owners and a former resident don't believe the tales being told.

First, there was the basement, "dug out of the earth. It looks like a burial ground," Mrs. Riedel said. Workers puzzled over the stubborn light that appeared nightly there, said Michael Saak, a 16-year-old bugle corps member. "We turned it off every night before we left and even boarded up the door. Inevitably, the light was back on by the time we got in our cars," Mrs. Riedel said. Thinking vandals or transients had gotten inside, workers began checking doors and windows before leaving. The light continued to come on. But the light wasn't the only spooky thing, Saak said.

"When we'd leave, we'd lock the doors, and when we'd come back in the morning they'd be unlocked," he recalled.

"One night we had boarded the basement door ... and the next day everything was open," Mrs. Riedel said.

Weird things continued to happen even after the volunteers finished the project two weeks ago.

"Yesterday we were over there, and ... candles that had been downstairs on the table were upstairs. All the lights were on and the doors were unlocked. We had left it locked and lights off," Judy Saak, Michael's mother, said yesterday.

"There's kind of weird books downstairs," Mrs. Saak said, including ones on psychology and how to operate on oneself. "I don't believe in ghosts ... but sometimes it kind of gives you a weird feeling."

There also was the mystery of the wayward tools. "I'm not kidding about this. We pooled our tools every day on the kitchen counter," Mrs. Riedel said. The next day some of them would be in the makeshift coffin the workers had set up In the living room.

"I don't have any explanation," she said. Police say they never heard of any strange happenings at the house before this year, and that nobody from the bugle corps reported anything.

"I didn't really think there would be anything they could do," Mrs. Riedel said. "If there's actually a spirit in there, the police wouldn't be able to do anything about it."

The house has been vacant for a year, since Lydia Krim, daughter of the original owners, moved out when she and her husband bought a new house. Mrs. Krim doesn't think the house is haunted. "This was my family's home since the early 1900s," she said. "It's all a bunch of fairy tales, and I resent it."

Mary Eitzenhefer, who has owned the house since 1971 with her husband, also doubts that the place is haunted. "I've never heard of any of this stuff," she said.

Any spirits that might be hanging around will have to find a new home. The Eitzenhefers, who donated the house for the bugle corps' project, plan to tear it down.

Cynics will say these reports were just part of a publicity stunt to sell tickets, but you have to concede it's a pretty darn good one.

"Illustrated Police News," December 28, 1872

In his book "Haunted Churches," famed "ghost hunter" Elliott O'Donnell related his experience with trying to chase down the spirit of an ancient nun: an expedition that wound up going down the toilet, in every sense of the phrase.

Let this be a cautionary tale for anyone who goes searching for spooks this Halloween.

A few miles from Hitchin, in a wood on the summit of a hill, are the ruins of Minsden church, at one time a chapel of ease, said to have given shelter to many a passing pilgrim. Tradition associates it with Alice Perrers, mistress of Edward III and Lady of Hitchin Manor, who is credited with stealing her royal lover's rings when he was on his death-bed and powerless to prevent her. In the seventeenth century it witnessed the marriage of Sir John Barrington, Bart., to Susan Draper.

After that time nothing of any note seems to have happened there, and, about 1738, it became so dilapidated that pieces of masonry and plaster not infrequently fell on the clergy and congregation, to the consternation of both.

Probably, soon after that date it was abandoned, some say on account of widespread rumours of its being haunted by the ghost of a nun, alleged to have been murdered during the reign of Henry VIII, when a convent was either attached to the church or occupied its site.

I first heard of the reputed haunting through a photographer living in the neighbourhood of Minsden, who sent me a photograph taken, he said, in broad daylight at the ruins. The chief interest in the photograph lay in what resembled the shadowy form of a nun. The photographer did not claim he had photographed a ghost, he merely called my attention to the shadowy form and implied he could not account for it. He referred to a local belief in the haunting of the spot by the phantom of a murdered nun, and suggested that we should visit the ruins; he would ask a few of his friends to accompany us and I could invite a few of mine. It was October, and, at my suggestion, we chose for the date of our visit to the ruins All Hallows E'en, that being one of the nights in the year when denizens of the spirit world are popularly believed to be in closest touch with the material inhabitants of this plane. Also, since All Hallows E'en is one of the occasions when the working of certain spells is deemed likely to produce interesting results, I asked a lady, who is well versed in such things, to be one of the party. Others I invited were H. V. Morton, the well-known author, Wyndham Lewis, "Beachcomber," and R. Blumenfelt, son of the Editor of The Daily Express.

When I arrived at King's Cross I saw a crowd of people collected in front of the Ladies' Waiting Room. Intuition warned me of the reason, and when I cautiously elbowed my way through the gaping throng, I perceived, as I had anticipated, my mediumistic friend, clad--and this I had not anticipated--in orthodox witch's costume, namely, high cap, cloak, gown covered with demons and black cats and, of course, in one hand, a broomstick. The picture was startling enough, and the expressions on the faces of the spectators were a study. While some showed wonder and others amusement, a few looked positively scared; probably they thought she was the escaped inmate of some home for the mentally defective.

Of my three friends, Morton, Wyndham Lewis and Blumenfelt there was not a sign. Indeed, I did not see them till I had bundled the witch into a third-class compartment, much to the consternation of a female occupant, who at once flew out of it. I then caught sight of them stealing surreptitiously into a first-class compartment, as far away from us as possible.

The Hitchin photographer lived with two very proper, elderly female relatives, and when they caught sight of the witch, standing beside me in the doorway, they were immeasurably shocked. "Who is this person?" they demanded. "She must not enter this house." And when I endeavoured to explain why she had come, their indignation grew. "Tom," one of them exclaimed, turning to the photographer, who cowered against the wall, looking extremely sheepish and uncomfortable, "Tom, you never told us a person dressed like this was coming. It's a scandal. What would your dear father, aye, and grandfather say? Why, they never missed a Sunday at chapel in their lives. The mere thought of a woman in such an attire as this," pointing at the witch, who maintained an imperturbability that suggested she was not altogether unaccustomed to such harangues, "coming to the house is enough to make them turn in their graves. Tell her to go away at once." Tom making no response, I had to intervene, and after much pleading obtained permission for the witch to sit with us in Tom's studio till it was time for us to go to the haunted ruins, on the condition, however, that, after leaving the house then, she was never to set foot in it again.

The ruins were several miles distant, and it was well-nigh midnight when we arrived there. As we drew near to the wood, there was a ghostly rustling of leaves, which made the more nervous of the party clutch hold of one another, followed by a buzzing and whirling, as a number of birds, scared at our approach, left their homes in the ivy-clad ruins of the church and flew frantically away.

I had brought with me a variety of articles necessary for the working of the spells, and I proposed that, while the witch muttered appropriate incantations, Messrs. Morton, Wyndham Lewis and Blumenfelt should try their luck with hempseed and apples.

Most All Hallow E'en keepers know the hempseed spell. Walking alone in the dark one has to scatter hempseed over the left shoulder, drawing mould over it afterwards with a hoe or other instrument, and repeating, as one does so, these words: 

Hempseed I sow, yes, hempseed I hoe;
Oh, those who's to meet me come after me and mow.

And then, if the Powers that govern the Unknown ordain it, one hears footsteps in one's rear and, on turning fearfully around, sees the immaterial counter-part of whoever is to come into one's life within the next twelve months and affect it most. If you are destined to die during that period, you see a skeleton. All this may sound just fanciful and old world, superstitious tripe: but, nevertheless, I have known occasions when something quite unexpected and unquestionably superphysical has happened. On this particular occasion, when asked if they would separate and, alone, amid the gloom and shadows of the trees, put the spell to the test, Messrs. Morton, Wyndham Lewis and Blumenfelt answered in the negative, a very decided negative; they much preferred remaining together.

The witch did her best to persuade the ghost to manifest itself. Seated on the damp soil she crooned, and incanted, and moaned, there was a note of occasional real misery in the last; but the other world remained obdurate, it would not come at her calling, and perhaps it was just as well, because some of the party might, I think, have been more than a wee bit startled; at least I gathered so from their close proximity to one another and from what, every now and then, sounded suspiciously like the chattering of teeth, though the cold--and out there it was cold--might have had something to do with the last.

Our pulses gave a sudden jump when one of the party exclaimed: "What's that?" We looked, and for a few seconds I thought that the witch's endeavours had at last succeeded in bringing the superphysical, but investigation proved it was only the ghostly effect of the moonlight on one of the ivy-clad ruin arches. We were discussing our disappointment, "professed" disappointment, I fancy, on the part of several, when from afar came a sound like the report of a firearm. "A strange hour and season for anyone to be out shooting," someone observed, and we thought no more about it.

As it was now about four o'clock, the chance of the ghost appearing seemed so remote that we set out on our homeward journey.

And now came our only real thrill. It was a still, grey, chilly morning. There had been a slight fog rising from the damp ground during the night, and it was now so thick that those of our party who were in front, myself among them, could not see the witch and photographer, who were trudging along some little distance in the rear. Through the mist the black shades of trees and hedges stood out faintly. We were hastening, thinking longingly of breakfast and a cheery fire, when suddenly dark figures sprang out from seemingly nowhere, and peremptory tones commanded us to halt. They were policemen, four of them, who in the mist--my eyes, no doubt, were strained by hours of high nerve tension vigil--appeared magnified into giants. They asked what we were doing, tramping a lonely highway at that unearthly hour, and when I said: "Looking for a ghost," the leader of them responded nastily: "That's a good 'un. You don't expect us to swallow that." He went on to inform us that the booking office at Wellyn railway station had been broken into during the night and the official in charge of it fired at, which explained the report of firearms we had heard.

He was about to search us, and I was feeling somewhat anxious, because one of our party had, I knew, a revolver on him, when I was seized with a sudden inspiration. "Do you know Mr.--?" I said, naming the local photographer.

"Very well," the Sergeant replied, "but he's not here."

"No," I answered, "but he's following with a lady, clad as a witch, and one or two other people. Do you not know last night was All Hallow's E'en, when the dead from cross-roads and cemeteries are permitted to mingle once more with the living? We came hoping to see the ghost of the nun that rumour alleges haunts the ruins of Minsden church. Haven't you heard of her?"

"Now I come to think of it," the Sergeant said, "I 'ave 'eard of the party, but I don't pay any attention to tales of that sort. You'll all 'ave to come along to the Police Station and answer such questions as may be put to you."

Grunts and ejaculations of dismay came from Morton, Wyndham Lewis and Blumenfelt, who had hitherto been dumb, too overcome, so I imagined, with the horror of the situation to speak.

Now the appalling thoughts of not getting to their respective newspaper headquarters in time loosened their tongue strings, nor did I feel too happy, for I was cold and shivering and wanted a hot drink very badly.

To my infinite relief, however, at this very critical moment, there loomed into view the witch, photographer and the rest of the party, who were all local. On hearing them corroborate my story, the Police Sergeant capitulated, and all ended well, at least so far as concerned that little incident; but there was some bother when we got back to the photographer's house and tried to smuggle in the witch. One of Tom's elderly relatives hearing us, and making sure we were burglars, or the house was on fire, started to scream, and it took desperate efforts on Tom's part to calm her. Fortunately, she was far too frightened to come out of her bedroom, or she must have seen the witch.

Our train back to London did not arrive for nearly two hours, and all that time we sat huddled together in the dreary room, in momentary dread of one or other of Tom's aged relatives descending on us. To render the situation more embarrassing and alarming, the witch, doubtless affected by sitting on the cold ground for so long, had to retire with sudden haste to the toilet which, as bad luck would have it, was upstairs, next to one of the aged relative's bedrooms. She contrived to get there without attracting attention but, on leaving the place, in her anxiety to catch the train, she slipped, and descending amid an avalanche of paper parcels, landed on the floor with a terrific crash. This was altogether too much for Messrs. Morton, Wyndham Lewis and Blumenfelt. They decamped pell-mell, meanly leaving me to grab hold of the witch and drag her and her many parcels to the station.

So ended my first visit to the haunted church of Minsden.

On the bright side, I'm sure O'Donnell could not possibly have seen any Halloween ghost or goblin that was nearly as terrifying as his photographer friend's little old aunties.

It's the Great Killer Pumpkin, Charlie Brown!

It's nearly Halloween! A time for fun, magic, mysticism, elaborate costumes, excited Fall revelry. Well, except around Strange Company HQ, of course. Hey, what sort of blog do you think we're running here?

That's right, it's time for our annual look at Halloween tricks and tragedies!

It's not often that I'm privileged to come across an old newspaper item where virtually every sentence contains something deliriously weird. The "Aberdeen Journal," November 16, 1927:

When on Hallowe'en a Glasgow mother found her 13-year-old son disporting himself in a pair of immaculate white flannel trousers, she wisely came to the conclusion that something must be wrong somewhere, and promptly informed the police.

What the police discovered was related in Glasgow Police Court yesterday, when four boys appeared in connection with an attack on an effigy of Harold Lloyd, the film comedian. Seeking appropriate carnival clothes, the boys, it was stated, entered the display window of a local cinema which was showing the comedian's latest film. An effigy of him was stripped of its entire make-up, which consisted of a college blazer, white flannels, and a straw hat. The boys managed to enter the window, remove the clothing, and make off without being disturbed, although the window faces a busy street. The clothes were shared by the youngsters.

They were placed on probation for three months.

The brevity of this one somehow makes it all the more unnerving. From the "Gloucestershire Echo," November 2, 1928:

An 18-year-old immigrant from Grimsby, Thomas Hart, who had been working on his uncle's farm at Kemptville, Ontario, was shot dead in a Hallow'een prank on Wednesday.

Chicago and Greensburg, Pennsylvania, were not the places to be on Halloween 1904. From the "Brooklyn Eagle," Nov. 1:

Greensburg, Pa., November 1--During the Halloween celebration in Vandergrift Heights last night, Roy Salsgiver, a prominent young man, was shot and instantly killed by a man named Charley Manilla, with whom he had an altercation. Manilla was arrested.

Chicago, November 1--As the climax of a Halloween prank, William Sears was mistaken for a thief early today and was shot in the back and instantly killed by Patrolman Nicholas Smith.

Sears and Frank McKune, 18 years old, were passing through an alley when they were seen by a policeman. They carried between them a basket. Calling to the men to halt, the policeman says they paid no heed to him.

After repeated calls Smith fired and Sears fell, while his companion disappeared down the alley. McKune was arrested shortly afterward. He said that he and Sears had been playing Halloween pranks in that neighborhood, but he failed satisfactorily to explain why he ran after called upon to halt.

You would have wanted to avoid Ohio on Halloween 1937, as well. The "Brooklyn Eagle," November 14:

The old Halloween prank of hiding the farmer's wagon [Ed. note: ???!?] caused death of one man and injury of another in Antioch, Ohio.

The wagon which Gerald Muth and Howard Wonhaus, both of Antioch, were guiding from the rear of an automobile broke loose and ran over them. Muth, 30, died in a hospital in nearby Barnesville. Wonhaus suffered critical hurts.

Missouri in 1958? You'd better be aware that townsfolk take their toilets very very seriously. The "Albany Knickerbocker":



New Jersey, 1905, was a big nope. The "Eagle," February 6:

Elizabeth, N.J., February 6--Harold M. Wilcox, treasurer of the organ works at Garwood, N.J., indicted for manslaughter for killing, by shooting, John Darling, aged 15 years, at Westfield on Hallowe'en night, while he and other children were playing pranks about Wilcox's house, was arraigned in the Union County Court this morning. He pleaded not guilty and was admitted to bail in $5,000. His bondsmen are Philip H. Mahan and John A. Dorman. The trial begins on February 21.

And, crickey, don't even think about Brooklyn in 1904. The citizens liked to end their parties with a bang. The "Brooklyn Eagle," November 1:

The explosion of a bomb or a giant firecracker in the vestibule of the home of Mrs. Mary Meyer, at Eighty-eighth street and Seventh avenue, Fort Hamilton, last evening, broke up a gay Hallowe'en party, at which Miss Irene Meyer was the hostess. The explosion occurred about 10:30 o'clock, when the gayety of the occasion was at its height, and there was great confusion verging almost upon a panic among the guests.

After quiet had been restored and the guests were assured of safety an investigation was made, and it was found that the vestibule had been badly damaged. The front door was blown out, and several windows were broken, but so far as is known no one was injured in the crash.

Mrs. Meyer lived in a two story frame dwelling in a neighborhood that was alive with Hallowe'en pranks last evening. Soon after the explosion had occurred the police were notified and Police Captain Creamer sent Detectives White and Waring to the scene to investigate, and if possible to find the person who caused the explosion. Its effect was the hurling of splinters and flying glass in all directions. At first the police believed that a bomb had been used, for it is said that they discovered a piece of fuse which had evidently been used. It was thought that the fuse was a part of mechanism used in army work explosives, and the attention of the police was directed toward the Fort Hamilton reservation.

Jack Landeraff, a soldier of the One Hundred and Twenty-third United States Artillery, was present at the party, and others from the reservation were present at the party and the police believed that the firecracker or bomb had been exploded by some other artilleryman at the fort who had not been invited to the festivities.

Mrs. Meyer would not accuse any one or say what her belief in the matter was, but Miss Irene Meyer wanted the police to investigate the affair thoroughly. Captain Creamer's detectives are still trying to find the man or men who caused the explosion. Speaking of the matter Miss Meyer said:

"I had no idea that I had gained the enmity of any one. I don't see how any of us escaped with our lives. I hope the police will catch him and deal with him to the law's letter."

The police are not certain whether the explosion was caused by a bomb or a firecracker. It is possible, however, that some of the mischievous boys in the neighborhood who were celebrating with all kinds of Hallowe'en tricks, placed a great firecracker in the vestibule.

The explosion broke up the party, and a short time after quiet was restored the guests departed in a very excited mood.

Let's close our, uh, "tribute" to the holiday on an unexpectedly positive note. This testimony to the occasional life-saving properties of Halloween pranks was written by one J.M. Kirriemuir. It appeared in the "Dundee News," for June 9, 1888:

It was Hallowe'en when the following incident took place at a small rural village that is situated on the banks of the Southesk fully a quarter of a century ago. Not withstanding the lapse of time, the narrow escape I then made still clings to my memory with that persistent tenacity that even the turmoil of every-day life cannot efface:--I was on my way to join a companion, to engage in a "guising" expedition, and went by a footpath that crossed the lade at the miller's trows. Trow is the name given to a large wooden trough that conducts the water with greater force on to the water wheel. Small wooden bars, ten or twelve feet apart, cross the trows above the water level to strengthen them. The bar I attempted to cross was the third one from the water wheel. When almost across my foot slipped, and I fell on my back in the water. I clutched the bar as I passed underneath it, and in trying to turn round I lost my hold, and was swept down the current. I got hold of the last bar in very much the same way as I caught the first, only I was able to hold my head above water. I shouted for assistance, and made frantic efforts to gain a footing. The awful situation now dawned upon my mind that the world, with all its youthful hopes and aspirations, would be gone from me in a few moments. Only those who have been in the immediate presence of the King of Terrors can form any adequate conception of what my feelings were. The great breast and wheel revolved with a lapping sound within a few feet of where I lay on my back, while the surging stream lashed me with unrelenting fury. The love of life is strong, but I felt my hands giving way. I thought my time was come, when all of a sudden the water subsided. I scrambled out of my perilous position, and got home, and by next morning I felt very little the worse of my ducking. I afterwards learned that the water was shut off as a Hallowe'en prank on the miller, who was busy and running overtime. The lark of the letting down of the sluices may have been a loss to the miller, but it proved a great gain to me. I believe the incident was the working of the Unseen Hand that rules the universe.

So, that's our Halloween fun and games for 2016. As always, I hope you all enjoy the holiday more than the subjects of my blog.

And for God's sake, let poor Harold Lloyd keep his clothes on.

Practical jokes are seldom funny in the best of times. Pair them with a ghoulishly-themed holiday like Halloween, and the results are often pure murder.

And around this blog, you know that last word can be taken very literally. In the first week or so of each November, the old newspapers generally read like casualty lists from a war zone.

For our annual Halloween celebration, Strange Company style, let's look at some seasonal "pranks" that inadvertently added to the parade of ghosts for the next year's holiday.

"San Francisco Call," November 2, 1904:

San Diego Nov. 1--John H. Scott of this city dropped dead last evening, as the result of a visit from a party of Halloween prank players. He was about to retire for the night when he heard sounds of the mischief makers outside and he became very much excited. He went out and drove them away and upon his return dropped to the floor and immediately expired.

"Fatal Fun"; or, The Joys of Piling Trash. From the "Tri City Star," December 29, 1904:



Combining alcohol and mock hangings isn't such a great idea. Who knew?

"Canberra Times," November 3, 1988:

Cambridge, Massachusetts: A man trying to stage a fake hanging as a Halloween prank choked to death in a bar full of revellers who did not realise he was dying. Mr. Michael Tyree, 41, of Cambridge, was rushed from the bar to Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston late on Monday but was pronounced dead on Tuesday morning, said hospital spokesman Mr. Martin Bander.

Theft isn't such a great idea, either. The "Centralia Enterprise and Tribune," November 5, 1898:



From the "Halloween Causes Insanity" File, here's the "Los Angeles Herald," November 11, 1910:



Or the holiday simply scares you to death. The "Logansport Daily Reporter," November 9, 1900:

The authorities of Allegany county are looking for persons who manufactured a skeleton out of bones of domestic animals, which frightened Mary Oldfield, of Karrdale, near Rochester, N.Y., to death the other night. Miss Oldfield, accompanied by two friends, was returning from a Halloween party, where they had listened to grewsome stories until their hair stood on end.

When about to enter the woods a rattling of bones was heard overhead and looking up the trio were overcome with horror to see a skeleton of gigantic proportions sweeping down on them from above. With a cry of terror Mary dropped in her tracks. A searching party found a wire leading from the ground to a tree top to which the skeleton was attached by a pulley.

"Los Angeles Herald," November 2, 1907:

Tuscon, Ariz., Nov. 1. A Halloween prank resulted in murder last night. Ramon Laveta, with companions, stretched a wire across the sidewalk and tripped a Chinese merchant named Wong. The latter drew a revolver and shot, killing Lavota instantly. The murderer attempted to escape, but was caught after a chase and narrowly escaped lynching.

Here's a double play from the "Barre Evening Telegram," November 2, 1898.



Fun With Tombstones! The "New York Times," November 2, 1900:




Trick-or-Treaters beware: Our ancestors had an unsettling predilection for shooting into crowds. From the "Bismarck Tribune," November 15, 1904:



And then there's the "New York World," November 1, 1904:



Not to mention the "Iowa Republican," November 2, 1914:



Let's not overlook the "Little Falls Weekly Transcript," November 20, 1900:



Or the "Marion Daily Mirror," November 2, 1907:



Take note of the "Minneapolis Journal," November 1, 1906:



And the "Sacramento Union," November 2, 1898:



And the "St. Genevieve Fair Play," November 10, 1894:



And the "Atlanta Constitution," October 30, 1901:



In conclusion, feel free to go out and celebrate Saturday. But don't say I didn't warn you.