The 24th Street Candlelight (Detroit)
In the middle 1700s, an old red mill stood at the foot of what is now 24th Street in Detroit. The keeper of this mill adopted a young Native American girl with the consent of her people, a Pontiac tribe. He raised her as his own daughter, teaching her the ways of the white man.
Among the warriors of the Pontiac, there was at that time, a young brave named Wasson. Wasson watched the maiden as she grew and fell helplessly in love with her. His tribesmen warned him that although she had been born Native American, she was now alien to their tribe, and he should forget her.
But Wasson kept watch over the girl. To his dismay, he soon discovered that she had a secret which she kept from her "foster-father". Whenever the miller was away, the girl would put a lighted candle in the window of the mill and a figure wrapped in a military cloak would emerge from the shadows, knock at that door, and be admitted. Wasson finally identified his rival as Colonel Campbell, an English officer, and he was siezed with rage. He stole into the girl's room through a window and killed her with his hatchet.
After the murder, people began to shun the mill. Those who did venture there often saw the figure of a young Native maiden with a candle in her hand, walking about in search of her lover. She frightened so many people that finally, in 1795, the mill was torn down to rid it of her ghost. It is claimed by some, however, that to this day the maiden's flickering candle can sometimes be seen along the nearby waterfront.
An Ottawa Native American Legend
Chief Sleeping Bear had a daughter so beautiful that he kept her in a covered boat, adrift in the Detroit River to keep her from being ogled by ordinary men.
One day, as her father was bringing her some food, the girl was seen by the winds, that blew along the river. They were so taken by her beauty, they began to huff and puff, trying to removed the cover from her boat. So fiercely did the winds blow that the rope snapped which held the boat, and the little craft floated away down the river.
As the boat passed by the lodge of the keeper of the water-gate, the maiden was exposed to view. Awed by her great beauty, the gate-keeper pursued the boat and brought the girl ashore. But as he carried her into his tent, the angry winds fell upon him, buffeting him wildly about until he finally died from the beating.
Now sorry for what they had done, the winds returned the maiden unharmed to her father. They begged the Indian chief not to hide her from them again, but to let them enjoy her beauty. Chief Sleeping Bear agreed to this, but he lived in fear that a mortal man, would again try to carry off his daughter. To protect her, he placed the girl on an island in the Detroit River, and prevailed upon the spirits to surround the island with snakes to protect her from intruders. There she could run free with the winds around her.
When the first white men appeared in the area they named the island Isle Ste. Clair. As they became familiar with it, they renamed it Rattlesnake Island. It was not much later that it became known as Belle Isle.
To this day, the maiden's spirit can be seen from time to time dancing in the wind on the island. Most unsuspecting picnickers don't realize that the lovely girl in Native costume is not a modern miss dressed for a pageant, but is in reality the Goddess of Belle Isle.
Her ernest suitor, the water-gate keeper, who had been killed by the angry winds was buried on Isle au Peche (Peach Island), where his spirit remained for generations. Native American braves sought out this spirit for counsel before going into battle. His voice sounded like wind among the trees and could be understood only by those who had prepared themselves through fasting and meditation.
Even Chief Pontiac, before planning his campaign against the English, spent seven days on Isle au Peche, fasting in order to clear his mind, and to seek the wisdom of the Oracle of Peach Island.
Wyandotte Native American Legend
Long ago on the banks of the Detroit River, where the city of Wyandotte now stands, there lived a Wyandotte chief who had three beautiful daughters. Although they were lovely to look at, these girls were quarrelsome creatures whose constant bickering made them unbearable company.
None of the young braves of the village wanted to marry them. Their reputations even spread to neighboring tribes, and it became impossible for the chief to find husbands for them. They were so difficult to get along with that even the other women avoided them. The old chief had moved his daughters to separate wigwams far apart from the rest of the tribe, but even there they quarreled among themselves so loudly and so long, they disturbed the entire community.
Their scolding and wrangling continued until finally the chief could no longer stand it. He separated them even from eachother, placing them on each of three islands to keep them apart. These islands, in Lake Erie, became known as the Sister Isles. When the sisters could no longer argue and quarrel with each other, they began to scream and cry. They neither ate nor slept, and continued their sobbing and crying until all three finally wasted away, to death.
Some say their wailing can still be heard by sailors aboard the boats that pass by these islands. Others insist that it is only the wind that they hear. To this day, the islands remain uninhabited and no one seems to want to live on them.
The Old Boarder
Marie Thebault (nee Kennette) was a childless widow, who made shoes for a living. She owned a two-story house on Old River Road (now Jefferson Avenue) in Detroit that served as both her home and her place of business. In 1865, she decided to take in a border to suppliment her income and rented a room to an elderly French woman, whose name has long been forgotten.
Thebault was not very well liked. She was a rude, insensitive person with nothing much good to say about anybody. She seemed to resent her boarder's popularity in the neighborhood and would mock and taunt the poor, gentle woman.
Thebault was not a churchgoer. She often expressed at length her own belief that there was no God, no life after death, no heaven or hell, and above all, no ghosts. She called the old lodger and anyone who would listen to her tales "pitiful fools". She loudly boasted that if the old woman died and actually came back to haunt her, then and only then would she change her beliefs. She went as far as to promise that she would even join the church. A bargain was made to that effect between the two women, but Thebault continued to make fun of the old lodger, who was loved and respected by everyone else.
Finally, death came to the elderly lady. And while Thebault was discussing the death with a neighbor, the neighbor's son came into the house and , knowing of Thebault's miserly ways, asked why she had left a light burning in her house. Surprised, she grabbed a poker and set out to her home to teach what she thought was an intruder a lesson, for she knew herself, she had left no light burning. But when she arrived home, there was no intruder, and no light.
On several evenings after that as Thebault gabbed about the old woman, others would report seeing a light burning in her house. But each time she returned home, she always found the house dark.
One evening she decided she would see for herself. She left home as usual, but returned only a few moments and quietly went in the back door. Creeping to her room, she laid down upon the bed. She had hardly settled herself when she saw a light coming up the stairs.
Thebault bolted up and stood waiting. The light continued soundlessly up the stairs, entered the room, and stopped directly before her. It was not a lantern, or a candle, but a white phosphorescence. Its form changed gradually until she could see the cloudy shape of a human being. For the first time in her life Thebault was terrified.
"Come no nearer", she cried. "I know you. I believe you. I was wrong and you were right." The light vanished.
From that night on, Thebault changed. She began to age quickly. But more than that, she softened. She no longer walked about insulting her neighbors. If they called at her house, she received them kindly and offered them refreshments.
And on the day before her own death, Marie Thebault astonished the entire parish, by attending mass.
The Mason Brothers
In the early 1800s the Mason family settled on a farm near what is now the City of Detroit. Their two young sons, John and Michael, became friends with Emma Thompson, the daughter of a neighboring farmer. The children went to school and played together throughout their childhood years. Time passed and they grew to be adults. Although Emma loved both the brothers dearly, it was John she chose to marry. Michael bore no grudge. He never married, but the brothers remained fast friends and built homes next to eachother. Michael became a frequent and welcomed visitor in John and Emma's home.
One day while the brothers were cutting cord wood, Michael saw that a huge tree was about to fall on John. Screaming, he rushed forward to push his brother out of the way. But it was too late, as the great tree crashed to the ground, it pinned both men beneath it. John was not fatally hurt, but his left leg was pinned down by the tree and he could not move. Michael, however, was mortally wounded, for the trunk of the tree had struck his back above the waist, crushing his torso beneath its weights so that he could not breathe. With his dying breath he told his brother not to worry, for he would get help.
Emma, who was at home alone, engrossed in her housework, and the children at school, suddenly heard someone in the kitchen. It was much too early for the men to have returned home. But there was Michael, and she knew immediately that something was wrong. He spoke normally and told her there had been an accident. He assured her John would be alright. Then he instructed her to get help to free her husband and gave her directions to find him. Emma hurried out of the house to enlist the aid of neighbors, not waiting for her brother-in-law.
Emma and the neighbors reached the fallen tree and freed John quickly. But it was too late to help Michael. He had been dead for more than an hour.
Grand'mere Duchene's Spinning Wheel
Grand'mere Duchene, a resident of early French Detroit, had but one son, Phillippe. He was prosperous and provided a fine home for his wife and family. But he resented having to care for his mother after she was widowed.
Reluctantly, he moved her into a small room in his home, where she lived like a servant rather than a member of the family. Her room was sparsely furnished with a bed, a chair, a chest, and a spinning wheel. She spent most of her time at this wheel, spinning the thread to be woven into cloth for the family's garments. She did not spin on the Sabbath, however, and being a religious woman, she insisted on attending mass every Sunday.
Phillippe himself, cared little for the church or its teachings. But public opinion concerned him greatly, so he made his weekly visits to the chapel for show. Grand'mere was ashamed of her son's attitude and frequently admonished him for his lack of Christian spirit. And so, as his mother lay dying, it was relief rather then grief that prompted Phillppe to make a rash promise to her. He agreed to honor her death by buying 50 masses for the repose of her soul.
Grand'mere Duchene's funeral was a fine one. She was dressed in clothes far finer than any she had worn while living and was laid to rest in a costly casket with a great ceremony. But only a short while after she was buried, with an impressive stone marker on her grave, Phillippe promptly forgot her.
One month to the day after Grand'mere Duchene's death, at the very hour of her death, Phillippe looked up from his desk in the study. He had hear what sounded like a spinning wheel. It was certainly strange, for no one had done any spinning in the house since his mother's death. The sound continued and seemed to follow him as he left his study and walked from room to room. As he stopped before the closed door of the room where his mother had spent her final years, the sound became very loud and seemed to be coming from the room itself. He opened the door and stared in horror.
There was Grand'mere Duchene seated at her wheel, spinning.
Phillippe slammed the door, half believing himself to be crazy. His mind was surely playing tricks on him. But why? True, he hadn't bought the 50 masses he had promised his mother, but he had certainly given her a fine enough funeral.
The noise of the spinning wheel followed him as he walked through the house. He heard it in his own room. He even heard it when he left the house and walked down the street several blocks.
Day in and day out the sound of the wheel droned on and on. Phillippe could no longer eat or sleep. At last he knew what he had to do. He sought out the parish priest and bought 50 masses for the repose of his mother's soul. And as he counted out the money, the sound of the spinning wheel became fainter and fainter. It stopped altogether as Phillippe placed the last gold piece in the hands of the priest.
Living Ghost of Rosedale Park
One bright sunny Sunday in early April, George and Emma Lambert went out for a leisurely afternoon drive through a quiet neighborhood in Rosedale Park. Suddenly, Emma gasped and ordered her husband to stop the car. Pointing excitedly at a beautiful old brick home with a "For Sale" sign on the lawn, she exclaimed, "George, that's it ! That's the house." Thinking his wife had suddenly taken leave of her senses, George stopped the car. They were certainly not house hunting. In fact, he had thought they were perfectly satisfied with the house they already owned.
When she regained her composure, Emma began to describe a dream she had been having for several months. In it she would be walking through a house unknown to her in daylight but by now very familiar at night. She was certain that the house they were now stopped in front of, was the house she had so often visited in her dreams. She was sure that she could describe the inside in detail. Taking a pen and paper from her purse, she began to write down all she could remember about the floor plan, furnishings, and decorating, all the while begging George to go with her and pretend to be prospective buyers of the house.
George wasn't sure. Perhaps it was a plot his wife had concocted to get him to look at a big expensive house they did not need and could not afford. But at last he gave in and they walked up to the door and rang the bell.
A woman opened the door. When she saw the Lamberts, she began screaming and slammed the door in their faces. Emma and George looked at eachother in amazement. It certainly was an odd way to treat a prospective buyer inquiring about a house for sale.
But Emma was undaunted. She wasn't going to be put off by a slammed door. She stepped forward and rang the bell again before George (who wanted to turn around and go home) could stop her.
This time the woman opened the door accompanied by her husband. She pointed at Emma and stammered, "Tha...that's the woman who's been haunting our house."
Indeed, while Emma slumbered at home in her bed, her dream walks through the house in Rosedale Park had been observed.
There is little doubt that Emma traveled astrally, but no one has been able to explain why she did so, or why she chose that particular house to haunt. Perhaps Emma had lived there in another lifetime. The house is old enough for that to be possible, but there is really no evidence to establish it.
Strangly enough, Emma's nightly visits have ceased completely since she visited the house in her waking hours and talked to the people who lived there. The house is no longer haunted but the matter remains unsolved.
Returning Home to Detroit
Debra Brown loved the house her parents had bought on LaSalle Street in Detroit. It made her feel rich and important just to walk around the large rooms or to sit at the table in the huge formal diningroom. Here she had a room of her own that she did not have to share with her sisters. She didn't even mind that because she was the youngest she had been given the smallest of the several bedrooms in the huge old brick mansion.
Indeed, the whole family was pleased to have found such a lovely home for such a reasonable price, after Mr Brown had been transferred here from Ohio. Having heard stories of what some neighborhoods in Detroit were like, they had dreaded coming here. But this house was magnificent and had helped ease their fears.
After living in their new home for a month, everyone was awakened one night by Debra's screams. She had always been afraid of the dark, and a small night light had been kept burning in her room. Her parents rushed into her room to see what was wrong, but everythings seemed to be in order and no one had passed them in the hall. But Debra, finally quieting down, told them she had seen an old man sitting on the floor in the corner of her room just moments before.
Several times after that Debra told her parents of seeing the same old person in her room or in the hall, and once she claimed she had seen him in the backyard. Her parents were quite certain it was her imagination, and they began to think of taking her to a psychiatrist when something happened to change their minds.
One morning as they started down the stairs together, Mr and Mrs Brown saw an elderly man climbing the stairs before them. Mr Brown was about to ask him who he was and what he wanted, but he faded from view as if he had evaporated. Both had seen the man and were quite certain that they were not losing their sanity. The only explanation seemed to be that the house was haunted. The ghost seemed to wish them no harm, and they soon lost their fear. The family even named the ghost "Charles" and laughed as they discussed him with friends. After the Browns had been living in the big house for nearly two years, they recieved a phone call one day from a man who had once lived in the house. He said that years ago his family had moved from the house to Connecticut. He was only 12 years old, but he had never forgotten his childhood home. He said that he still dreamed about it. The man told them he was visiting relatives in Detroit and would be grateful if the Browns could let him come to see his old home one more time. He was getting on in years and felt certain that his would be his last trip to Michigan. Mr and Mrs Brown invited him to come that afternoon. They said they would be glad to show him the improvements they had made to the house.
His arrival turned out to be a shock. They opened the door to find themselves face-to-face with "Charles," and he was indeed very much alive.
Later, in conversation, with their guest, the Browns discovered that during the times they had seen "Charles" in their home, the old man had been asleep in his Connecticut home, dreaming about his childhood on LaSalle Street and playing with his electric train on the floor in the corner of the room where Debra now slept.
A Time Warp in Plymouth
In the upstairs bedroom of her small frame house in Plymouth, Michigan, Margie awoke from a sound sleep. The illuminated dial of the alarm clock showed exactly 4:00am. She lay there wondering what had awakened her. Her husband was asleep at her side and other then his deep, regular breathing, there was no sound. Margie could not go back to sleep.
Quietly, not waking her husband, she got out of bed and walked across the room to the window. It was a cold winter's night. Big, fluffy snowflakes filled the air. It had been snowing for quite some time for the ground was completely covered and there was not a track of any kind in sight. Margie went downstairs to the kitchen to fix herself a cup of hot tea. She walked into the kitchen and turned on the light.
But it was not her kitchen.
The room had been completely changed somehow. It seemed as if she had stepped into a kitchen from the 1930's. There was a hand pump in a chipped enamel sink and a pail and dipper under the spout. A big black woodburning cook stove took up one whole side of the room. On the floor lay a flowered linoleum rug, with bare wooden boards visible around the edges. A patterned oil cloth covered a round wooden table in the center of the room. And seated around it were three people Margie had never seen before. They seemed deep in conversation. Their lips moved and yet there was no sound. No one seemed to notice she was there. Margie suddenly felt as if she were an intruder in someone else's home.
Totally mystified, she rushed back upstairs, woke her husband, and begged him to come downstairs with her. But when they reached the kitchen, nothing was amiss. The gleaming electric range, the automatic dishwasher, the frost-free refrigerator, and the stainless steel double sink were all in their proper places. The floor was covered wall to wall with its rust-colored carpet. And there were no people in the room.
Marge still insists she was fully awake and did not dream she was in another kitchen as her husband suggests. But nothing like that had ever happened to her before and has never happened since.
A Victorian Shade
On the lower east side of Detroit, not far from Belle Isle Bridge, stands a neighborhood of beautiful historic homes known as "Indian Village". One of these houses, a fine old Victorian mansion, from the 1890's is haunted. Not by a ghost, but by a shade.
An attractive woman about 40 years old with thick brown hair pulled severely back and twisted into a knot at the back of her neck suddenly appears at the top of the stairway. She is wearing a tight-waisted long grey dress with a white collar and white cuffs. She is crying mournfully into a blue lace handkerchief. Slowly she descends the stairs and stops for a moment at the bottom step to wipe her eyes. Then she abruptly turns to the right and walks down the hall to the butler's pantry where she disappears.
Over the past 57 years (and perhaps much longer), everyone who has lived in that house on Seminole Street has seen her as have many of the guests who have visited the house. Who she is, why she is crying, and what became of her, no one knows. She never talks.
Attempts to communicate with her through seances always failed. She is a shade acting out a scene from the past, a scene destined to be played out for all eternity.
Butler Cemetery, Westland
In the city of Westland, the Butler Cemetery( Ganong) on Henry Ruff Road, is said to be the site of frequent hauntings. Whether there are the work of ghosts, human hoodlums, active imaginations, or a combination of the three, I leave you to decide.
A Westland resident, Tony Pointer, claims to have seen ghosts at Butler Cemetery not once but twice. The first time, late at night, he saw the figure of a woman dressed in white crossing the road in front of the cemetery. He swerved to avoid hitting her, and she vanished in front of his eyes. A year later, he was again passing the cemetery. This time, it was just at dusk on a foggy evening in late October. The lady in white was standing in the graveyard next to a large monument. Nearby stood a second figure, a man dressed in what looked like a grey uniform. Tony stopped his car to get a better look at them, and they both seemed to dissolve in the fog. There were no other parked cars in sight. He was certain that the figures he had seen were not just ordinary people visiting the grave of a loved one, as has been suggested. "No sir," asserts Tony, "those were ghosts. I saw them, and nobody is going to convince me otherwise!"
In was 1980 on a bright sunny afternoon when two friends felt an eerie sensation as they rounded the curve at that neglected graveyard. The place was overgrown with grass and weeds and strewn with broken branches. Wild grapevines clung to what remained of a wire fence surrounding it, and a rust gate hung on broken hinges . The property across the road and on both sides of the cemetery was vacant. An old abandoned mansion was the closest building. It must have been very beautiful once, but now it stood empty, its windows gone and its door hanging open. A little unoccupied house, just to the south of the larger one, was boarded up and surrounded by discarded furniture.
The two parked their car at the gate and entered the cemetery on foot. Soon after arriving, they became occupied with reading the old markers, and trying to imagine the long ago lives of those whose earthly remains laying beneath the tombstones.
Suddenly a voice from one of the friends called, urging the other to come quickly and see what she had discovered. The man climbed to the top of the hill where his friend was standing, and was stunned by what he saw.
An old grave appeared to have been recently dug up and hastily refilled. What looked like a blonde wig lay on the ground nearby. The man stooped down to pick it up, but quickly dropped it when he realized it was not a wig at all, but the dried scalp of a woman long dead. Closer examination of the grave revealed a shoulder bone sticking out of the dirt piled over the grave. To one side of the grave lay some neatly stacked boards from a rotted wooden casket, some with bits of a faded silk lining still clinging to them. Using a twig from a fallen branch the man again picked up the scalp and carried it gingerly back to the car where he put in in a paper bag. Then drove quickly to the Westland Police Station and turned the bag and its contents over to an officer who took a report.
Several days later, the man called the police to learn what more they had discovered. He was told that nothing was amiss. The grave, they said had been dug up by animals. The the man was puzzled and replied that this seemed highly unlikely since shovel marks had been clearly visible and the casket boards had been neatly stacked in a pile. The office at the other end of the phone explained this away, saying that most likely someone else had happened along before them, and tried to straighten up the damage. The man decided to drop the matter since the police seemed uninterested.
A few months after the man was there, he read an article in the newspaper, that a young man had died there when his car crashed into the hill. The road curves abruptly at the hill and that alone could account for the accident, but there are those like Tony Pointer and this other man, who believe that anyone could lose control of their vehicle, if they were trying to avoid hitting a ghost.
The Church Lady in Farmington
The night was dark and foggy. Norman was on his way to pick up his wife who had been attending a baby shower in the basement of the new church in Farmington. He drove into the parking lot an decided not to stop there, but to circle behind the church and bring the car up to the doors at the front of the building where his wife would see him.
As he neared the back of the lot and began to turn toward the rear of the building, he saw standing directly in front of him the figure of a woman who looked exactly like his mother. He slammed on his brakes and brought the car to a screeching halt. He knew it could not be his mother for she had been dead nearly two years. The woman remained standing in front of the car, gazing directly at him. And now he felt he was losing his senses, for indeed it could have been no one but his beloved mother.
Norman opened the car door and stepped out into the mist. He approached the front of the car where he had seen his mother standing. No one was there. But what he saw made him gasp in horror. What he had thought were bushes in the fog were really tree tops. The church had been built on a ledge overlooking a ravine. There was no driveway behind the building. Had he driven just a few feet further, his car would have plunged over the ledge and into the ravine below.
The Little Girl Who Wasn't There
The Clark Family had moved into their large old house on Warren Avenue in Detroit when their youngest child, Rachel, was not yet three years old.
Even before the family had completely settled into the new home, Rachel announced that she has a little friend. She said her friend's name was Kenny Cobb. When her mother said she would like to meet him, Rachel explained that Kenny was a girl, not a boy, and that she was standing right beside her. Naturally, Mrs. Clark had heard of children having imaginary playmates, but she wondered how her daughter had happened to make up such a strange name.
Kenny Cobb soon became part of the household. Although only Rachel could see her, she kept the family well informed about everything Kenny said or did. Rachel's parents did not discourage Rachel since they had read that it was quite natural for a child to invent such a playmate and that it was, in fact, a sign of higher intelligence.
Rachel and Kenny remained friends for more than two years. Then, about a month after Rachel started kindergarten, her mother found her crying and asked what was wrong. Rachel announced that Kenny had come to say goodbye. It seemed that Kenny had told her that since Rachel now had other children to play with, it was time for Kenny to go.
As time went by, Rachel talked less and less about Kenny and they Clarks eventually forgot all about the little blonde-haired girl they had never seen.
Years passed, and Rachel had grown into a young woman when one night the Clarks attended a party on the other side of town. There they met several people they had never known before. When the Clarks mentioned where they lived, an older woman spoke up and said that many years ago she had lived in the same neighborhood.
"Exactly which house do you live in?" she asked.
The Clarks described their home , and she said, "Oh yes, the old Cobb house. The Cobb family built that house but they didn't live there very long. They moved right after their granddaughter was hit by a car and killed in front of the house."
The Clarks gasped at the name, Cobb. "What was the child's first name?" they both asked quickly.
"I can't remember," the woman replied, "but it was a boy's name. They called her by a boy's name -- Billy, Bobby, or something like that." The Clarks looked at each other in astonishment. Rachel had not made it all up. She really had been playing with the ghost of Kenny Cobb.
The Clarks no longer live on Warren Avenue. Rachel is married now and has children of her own. But she feels certain that if ever another lonely little girl lives in the old Cobb house, Kenny will come back to keep her company until she finds new playmates.
A Loyal Grosse Pointe Family Employee
Esther Suttle was a hard-working woman. She and her husband George had been employed for 27 years as housekeepers in a well-known Grosse Pointe home.
George had died several years before, and Esther had wanted to retire, but the family she worked for convinced her that she was ireplaceable. Her mere presence in the house seemed to keep things running smoothly even though she no longer could handle the heavy cleaning. She directed the work of the younger employees and made sure that everything was done as it should be done.
George and Esther had only one child, a daughter, who had died at a young age, leaving a small baby behind, Nancy. Nancy herself, married and lived in a little home in East Detroit, and although Esther lived in the Grosse Pointe home, she spent most of her time with Nancy.
On one particular night, Esther spent the evening as usual with Nancy's family. They talked, watched television, and had a nice warm cup of tea, before retiring to bed. Esther kissed them all goodnight and climbed the stairs to the extra bedroom. That night, she passed away peacefully in her sleep.
Nancy knew her grandmother had lived a long and happy life and it was her time to go. But Esther held a very special place in her heart, and she took her death as a great loss. In Esther's room, Nancy found that should could not bear to sort through her grandmother's things just then, so she closed the door behind her, and left the room as it had been. But as she walked down the stairs, she heard what sounded like keys jingling. However, she shrugged it off as her own imagination.
Later that evening, after Nancy and her husband had returned from making arrangements with a funeral parlor, she again heard the jingling sound. She mentioned it this time to her husband, but he had not heard it. Twice that same night, Nancy, heard the sound. When she couldn't go back to sleep, she went downstairs to fix herself a cup of warm tea. And there in the doorway to the kitchen stood, Grandma Esterh, shaking her key ring. Nancy's screams woke her husband, who came rushing downstairs. He tried to comfort her, telling her it was terrible nightmare, or just naturally her nerves were causing her to see things that were not there. Nancy hoped that he was right.
The next day, the relatives began arriving from out of town. Nancy busied herself making everyone else comfortable. Although she thought she heard the jingling sounds more then once during the day; no one else noticed, so she said nothing. But as everyone was preparing to go to the funeral home, Nancy looked up and saw her grandmother coming toward her, shaking her key ring wildly in Nancy's face. Nancy began to cry uncontrollably. Blaming her outburst on her grief, the family comforted her on the way to the funeral home. Nancy sat quietly in the mourner's room of the funeral home, speaking polietly when spoken to, but as they prepared to leave for the night, Nancy froze in terror.
Grandma, was getting up out of her coffin ! But no one else seemed to notice !
Nancy looked more closely. Her grandmother's body was still lying in the casket, but there was Grandma, now standing beside her shaking those keys. Nancy ran out of the room screaming. Her husband caught up with her in the parking lot and Nancy tried to explain about the keys. He asked her if she had ever seen the keys before today.
"Yes," she told him. " They're the keys to the house where she worked. She always carried them."
They drove home and went straight to Esther's room. The ring of keys was lying on the dresser where Esther had put them before going to bed for the last time. They decided that perhaps Esther was worried that the keys would fall into the wrong hand. So, not waiting until morning, they took the keys back to the employer's home in Grosse Pointe.
Nancy never heard them jingle again.
A Hidden Box in Hazel Park
Back in the 1930s, shortly after the Depression, Barbara's grandfather lost a samll savings account when the banks closed suddenly, leaving him and thousands of others across the nation, unable to withdraw any money. grandmother, was an old fashioned sort of woman, who did not work outside of the home, she did not drive, and left all of the bill-paying to her husband. She had never worried about money matters, and as far as she was concerned it was her husband's job to handle the financial matters. He was a good, hard-working man, and she never doubted that he would always provide for them.
Their home in Hazel Park, was completely paid for. There were two good-sized insurance policies listing Nana as beneficiary and a tidy sum of money put aside from careful savings. The problem was that Nancy could not prove any of this. The deed to the house, the insurance papers, and even the cash had been stores safely in a metal strong box. But when her husband died, suddenly, he had never told his wife, where he had kept the box.
Nana missed her husband terribly, and now, in addition to her grief, she had no money. Six weeks had gone by since her husband's death and still she had not found the strong box. Without the proper papers, she could not claim any insurance, Even the undertaker was left unpaid. Nana reluctantly accepted money from her children even to buy groceries.
Everyone in the family had tried to find the box. They had cleaned out cupboards, closets, and trunks. They looked for false bottoms in drawere, secret compartments in the desk and bureaus. They had thoroughly searched every nook and cranny from the attic to the basement, but to no avail.
After one particularly frustrating day, Nana asked Barbara and her son, Corky, to spend the night since she didn't really want to be alone. Barbara, of course, accepted and since they were all very tired, all three went to sleep early. "Barbara," she exclaimed, "your grandfather was just here and we had the nicest visit."
"You were dreaming, Nana," Barbara told her.
But the older woman insisted that it hadn't been a dream. She said that her husband had come back to tell her that everything was all right and that she should not worry. He said they would be together again someday. But Barbara was worried her grandmother had gone a bit crazy from grief and stress. She decided to call on of her aunts to come at once.
"Don't you go near that phone," ordered her grandmother. "Just bring me a hammer and a chisel and hurry."
Surprised, Barbara decided to humor her, and went and got the tools. While she was gone, her grandmother had rolled back the rug and was kneeling on the floor counting the floor boards. Suddenly she patted a spot that looked no different then the rest and spoke,
"Pry up these boards at once."
To Barbara's amazement, the boards lifted easily, and there at last, was the long-hidden metal strong box. Taking it from its hiding place, she handed it to her grandmother, who quickly opened it. Inside were the long sought insurance papers, the deed to the house, and five thousand dollars in cash.
Hauntings in Livonia
Hal and Eleanor Morton purchased a small two-bedroom home on a tree-lined street in Livonia, and for five years, they and their children lived happily in the home. But as the children grew older, it became evident that the home was too small for their family.
They really didn't want to move, they had loved their house, and the area. THe neighbors were all friendly, the children were happy in the school, and they were conveniently located near good shopping centers.
The people who had lived in the house previously, had built an enormous garage behind the home. Mrs Morton often remarked that nobody needed a garage that large, and wouldn't it be fine to have all the extra space added to the house. So instead of moving, they built a new, smaller garage, and connected the existing one to the house with a glass-enclosed breezeway. They then converted the old garage into a spectacular family room, at the same time remodeling the main part of the house. Walls were torn out and new partitions were built, bathrooms were added, and windows were replaced. When the work was completed, the house had become a showplace featuring skylights, a fireplace, master bedroom with a dressing room and a bath.
Soon after the construction was finished, odd things began to happen.
The dog, who had begun acting strangely, disappeared and never returned. The cat yowled and hissed at nothing at all, and one night, it ran screeching through the house, and dropped dead. The veterinarian that examined the cat, said it had died from heart failure. After that, the Moran's seemed unable to keep any pet for more than a week or two. Every animal they brought home, either ran away or became deathly ill.
Then one day, while seated at the vanity of her new bathroom, Eleanor noticed cat tracks on her tile. It had been at least six weeks since they had, had a cat. She washed the paw prints away, only to find they reappeared the next day. To this day, paw prints appear again and again, though no cat has ever been seen in the house.
Every so often, cold air will suddenly fill the familyroom, even when the fireplace is closed and there are no doors or windows open. The room is well-insulated and usually quite warm, exect with this occurs.
Occasionally, the overpowering smell of perfume or pungent pipe tobacco will fill the house, although no one in the house uses either item.
The strangest of all, only happens on rainy nights. Since the house was remodeled, the Mortons have come to dread storms. Every rainy night at exactly midnight, the household is awakened by an urgent knocking at the side door, the one leading inot the beautiful breezeway. WHen the door is open, no one is ever there.
One night, during a heavy rain, the Mortons decided to catch whoever was knocking. THey pretended to go to bed as usual. Then after the lights were turned off, they snuck back out to the breezeway entrance. Eleanor Morton unlatched the side door so that it could be opened quickly. They took their positions and waited patiently. And, sure enough, at exactly midnight, they heard the knock. Instantly, Hal flung open the door and Eleanor snapped on the flood lights in the yard. But as before, no one was there. There had certainly been no time for anyone to escape unseen, and yet the well-lit yeard, was empty.
Who is that rapping at the door? The Mortons say they no longer want to know.
Dearborn's Haunted House
Hilda was driving home from work, headed west of Ford Road, when she suddenly left an urge to turn off her usual route down a small street, named Argyle. A small frame house, looking much like all of the others on the street mesmerized her. One day, only a few months later, a "For Sale" sign was put up on the front lawn. Hilda hadn't thought of moving until that day and she went directly home to call the realtor. She made an appointment to see the inside of the home the very next day.
As soon as she walked through the front door, she felt that she had come home. Being a single parent, she felt she would have difficulty raising the money for a down payment or qualifying for a mortgage. But to her surprise, everything fell right into place and before long, she and her children were settling in their new home.
One evening while everyone was sittng around the table having dinner, a strange tapping noise started. It seemed to be coming from the floorboards beneath their feetl, but there was no one in the basement. Hilda tried explaining that this was probably just the water pipes or something else explainable, but the tapping grew louder.
For the next several years, the taping would occur every now and then, and one evening when guests had come to visit, someone suggested they work out the tapping sounds and try to communicate with an "unearthly houseguest." For many hours they made guesses with the sound and finally came up with a name for thier "ghost ; Charles." The first owners of the house ahd been a couple named Charles and Mary Adams, who had moved in here, in 1929.
Over the years footsteps could be heard on the stairs when no one was there. The family, was even awakened by the sounds of furniture being moved about the livingroom, but when they would check, everything would be in its place.
Relatives eventually convinced Hilda Cleo Abain, a renowned psychic, Hilda, and six of her friends and relatives gathered in the diningroom. At first, all was quiet, then suddenly, the room became filled with a strong smell of cigar smoke. The ghost they had conjured up was not the friendly, "Charles," but an angry, short, dark man, who spoke of his daughter, Maria. He indicated that he was looking for Charles Adams, whom he referred to as "Carlo."
Cleo Abain suggested that perhaps, Maria, had run away from home and died in the house while she had been a guest of the Adams family. As she toured the home, Cleo sad that she felt strange vibrations in the basement. A great sadness came over her, and she suspected that at one time, someone had committed suicide there. She also felt that a young woman and an older man, (perhaps Maria and her father?) had once argued over a dog.
None of this was ever confirmed, but Hilda remained certain that "Charles" was not in anyway connected with anything evil. His friendly spirit continued to comfort Hilda, while she lived in the home. After the seance, the unplesant odor of cigar smoke was also present on occasion.
Grandma's House in Detroit
Pete and Nancy had five children and lived ina frame house on Appleton Street, in Detroit. Pete's father lived in a nearby nursing home, but spent almost every evening with them, for dinner. Pete's mother had died before he and Nancy were married. She had never met Nancy or any of their children.
One day, while Nancy was busy in the kitchen, she heard the phone ringing in the livingroom, however, her extension in the kitchen, did not ring. Thinking that the ringer was only broken, she picked up the phone in the kitchen, however only heard a dial tone. Seconds later the livingroom phone ran again. This time, she went into the livingroom to answer it, and again, there was no one there. As she turned back toward the kitchen, she saw her three year old, sitting on the couch with a bottle of pills in her hand, she had taken out of her mother's purse. Nancy believed that the ring had saved her daughter's life.
Another day, Nancy had put the baby down to sleep in an upstairs bedroom. The room had a window that opened onto a lower portion of the roof. It was summertime, and although Nancy opened the window, she made sure the screen was firmly in place. As soon as the baby was asleep, Nancy went downstairs to do laundry. A short while later, she heard someone calling her name. She went to the door, but no one was there. She was about to return to her laundry, when she heard her name again, called by a voice that seemed to be coming from the front yard. She went outside, but there was no one there. When she turned to go back into the house she glanced up and saw the baby perched on the side of the roof. She had knocked out the screen and climbed out of the windown, and sat looking down at her mother. It seemed that Grandma had once again, helped the family to avoid disaster.
Nancy claimed that whenever any one of her children was ill, she felt the presencce of another person in the house. Her husband, Pete, had even claimed to have seen a figure standing by his son's bed he thought resembled his mother. Nancy became more attentive to her feelings and followed any intuition that came her way. One day she discovered her six year old son and a friend, behind the garage attempting to light some cigarettes. She had rarely ever gone to the far side of the garage, but this day, she felt an urge to do so.
Nancy and Pete feel very lucky to have their "ghost" and hope that she will never leave.