America's Most Haunted: The Secrets of Famous Paranormal Places - Softcover

Olsen, Eric; Argie, Theresa

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0425270149 ISBN 13: 9780425270141

Publisher: Berkley, 2014

Synopsis

Combining spine-tingling stories, documented evidence, and interviews with some of the top names in paranormal investigation—including the stars of TV’s “Ghost Hunters,” “Ghost Adventures,” and more—America’s Most Haunted gives you a terrifying chance to tour our nation’s most famous haunted places...

Throughout the United States, there are places haunted by souls both malevolent and benign. Places where paranormal activity runs rampant. Places where we can glimpse the other side.

In America’s Most Haunted, “Haunted Housewife” investigator Theresa Argie and journalist Eric Olsen team up to take you on a first-person tour of some of America’s most active paranormal hotspots.

Experience the crawl through the death tunnel where visitors have reported sightings of an inhuman creature that creeps along the walls and ceilings. Walk the decks of the Queen Mary with the hundreds of souls that met their ends in watery graves. And get to know the spirits that wait in jails, mansions, lunatic asylums, and even a stately old hotel.

Are you brave enough to take a look?

About this title

About the Author:

Theresa Argie, a.k.a "The Haunted Housewife," is an experienced paranormal investigator who has worked with some of the field's most well-respected experts. Theresa has been on several television shows, including "Paranormal Challenge" and "My Ghost Story." Eric Olsen is a leading journalist in the field of paranormal investigation. He is also a published author, media personality and respected blogger. Together, the two host the internet radio show, "America's Most Haunted."

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  #10  

Willoughby, Ohio

INTRODUCTION

Willoughby Coal is not your typical haunt—it’s a fully operational coal company and hardware store. In an era of “super haunts,” it’s refreshing to know that some of the most interesting places, the most haunted places, are little-known local treasures just waiting to be explored. Willoughby Coal represents that one place in every community that only the locals know about, a place so amazing they almost don’t want to share it with anyone. But they should.

Before the simple, beautiful Willoughby Coal building of today, a series of other structures and businesses called the property home, including a train depot, a flour mill, a cheese factory, and numerous inns and lodges such as the Zebra Stagecoach House. The Zebra, named for its unusual striped paint job, was destroyed by a fire in 1879.

In 1893, the current building was built for use as a flour mill, well placed between two railroad lines that made it convenient to move product to market. The mill was successful until automation killed it, and a coal company took over in 1912. The Golf-Kirby Coal Company provided essential fuel to the city, CP&E—the local interurban railroad—and the burgeoning Andrew School for Girls.

In the 1930s, Henry Windus and William “Don” Norris, ambitious employees of Golf-Kirby, joined forces and bought the business. They renamed it Willoughby Coal and Supply, a title it retained until a relatively recent change to Willoughby Coal and Garden Center.

After many successful years of operation, the owners decided to remodel the third floor of Willoughby Coal in 1947. Don Norris kept a watchful eye on progress, taking notes and making recommendations to the construction crew. On the morning of April 2, Norris, who lived nearby, kissed his wife, Maude, good-bye and headed off for work early at 7:10 A.M.

When the shop foreman arrived at Willoughby Coal at 7:40 A.M., he was greeted by a gruesome sight: A man’s mangled body lay facedown at the front entrance in a pool of blood. The entire left side of his head was bashed in, his face an unrecognizable mess. His outstretched arms were broken at the wrists. If not for the car still parked in its usual spot and the wallet in his pocket, the identity of the dead man would have been a mystery.

At first authorities thought Norris might have been robbed, but over $400 in company money was still on his person; his wallet was full of his personal cash; the keys to his brand-new car were still in the ignition; and his gold wristwatch, stopped at 7:26, was still on his broken wrist.

The investigators’ next thought was that for some strange reason Norris had climbed the coal uploader on the side of the building to go up to the third floor, fallen, and somehow crawled to the front of the building. This idea was quickly dismissed when investigators realized that the extent of Norris’s injuries would have made it impossible for him to crawl anywhere, let alone from the side of the building to the front.

Norris’s bloody, battered body was sent to the local funeral home, where the director, oddly, found over a cup of coal dust in the dead man’s clothing. The clothes Norris had worn that morning had been freshly laundered. How could he have collected that much coal residue in such a short period of time? The director also found a small hole in Norris’s left boot.

The grieving family and stunned community wanted answers, and the police cobbled together a theory. Don Norris had arrived at work early, as was his habit, to check on the previous day’s renovations. He had climbed up to the third-floor rafters to examine progress there. A circular window space approximately three feet in diameter, just under the crest of the roof, was open in the front wall. Norris’s foot had gotten caught on a nail sticking up from the wood. He had lost his balance and pitched forward through the open window space, tragically plummeting three stories to his death.

This tenuous sequence of events was accepted as the cause of death for decades. To those unfamiliar with the building, or basic physics, this closed the case. But the dots never really connected. Norris would have had to dive toward the circular opening like Superman in order to get there from the rafters; simply tripping would not have propelled him that distance. Also, the mystery of the coal dust was never officially addressed.

There was nothing in the contract that provided for the widow or the family of the deceased partner. Maybe Norris never gave much thought to dying so young. Maybe he wasn’t aware of the death clause in the contract, or maybe he never suspected his partner would leave his poor widow and children high and dry. Maude Norris took in boarders and laundry to make ends meet. All she was left with was a bucket of tears and baskets of dirty laundry.

Many decades later, in the fall of 2011, Cathi Weber led a small group on her usual Willoughby Ghost Walk rounds. When they arrived at Willoughby Coal, Cathi told the ghostly tales and haunted happenings surrounding the building, including the story of Don Norris, which she had researched extensively for her book, Haunted Willoughby, Ohio. When she got to the details of his death, a hand went up in the crowd.

“Excuse me, I have something to add to that story,” said a young man.

Cathi was surprised but intrigued. “Of course, if you have any information I’d love to hear it.”

The young man introduced himself as the grandson of William “Don” Norris. He said the official cause of death was incorrect, it hadn’t been an accident. His grandfather had been murdered! Now that his grandmother had joined her husband in death, the family felt compelled to speak out about what had really happened that fateful morning.

Cathi was speechless. The young man did indeed know many details that only someone who had extensively researched the case—or who was a family member—would know. According to the Norris family, Henry Windus had wanted the business, the whole business. He had tried to buy his partner’s half, but Don Norris had not been interested in selling. A clause in the partnership agreement between Windus and Norris stated that upon the death of one owner, the other would retain full control of Willoughby Coal and Supply. After several attempts to get control legally, Windus had allegedly hatched a dastardly scheme.

Windus knew of his partner’s early-morning habits, this version goes, and on April 2 he was waiting for him. With the help of someone or several “someones,” Windus jumped Norris when he arrived at the store, dragged him up to the third floor onto the scaffolding at the front face of the building, and viciously tossed him out the window opening, whence he plunged fifty feet to his death.

This version of the incident would account for the injuries to his face and hands and the mysterious coal dust found on the dead man’s clothes. Intriguing and logical, yes, but there is no way to prove any of it and the case has long been closed.

Don Norris’s spirit haunts Willoughby Coal because not only was it the place of his untimely death, it was the place of his life. He poured his blood, sweat, and tears into his work, and now his essence remains, crying out for justice, for someone to hear the truth, whatever that may be.

The untimely and mysterious death of Don Norris isn’t the only recorded death on the grounds of Willoughby Coal. Another man, an employee, died inside the building in the 1970s.

Zip was an older gentleman who was fond of the drink. His problem with alcohol led to the breakup of his marriage and loss of his home. He had no family to speak of, so the owners of Willoughby Coal took pity on this troubled man and let him stay in the building at night, watching over the place as a quasi security guard.

People knew him as an eccentric character who kept to himself for the most part. He had some unusual habits and odd mannerisms, often mumbling to himself. He was also very protective of the few belongings he actually owned.

Zip lived inside the building for many months, making his home in the back of the first floor until he died of a massive heart attack prepping a load of coal for delivery. The rumor that he had hidden something in the walls began to surface immediately after his death. Some thought it was money; others thought it was a collection of antique guns. Myriad tall tales turned a nondescript Willoughby Coal employee into a legend.

No one knows what Zip hid, if anything, inside Willoughby Coal, but apparently he is still guarding it. His apparition has been seen on the first, second, and third floors quite frequently over the last four decades. He’s careful not to show himself completely, letting you catch only quick glimpses of his disheveled form. His footsteps echo off the brick walls, fading into silence once you’ve tracked their source.

Invasion of the Body Snatchers

The settlement that became Willoughby was prime real estate along the Chagrin River about twenty miles east of Cleveland. In the early 1830s, a group of enterprising young physicians began a quest to start a medical college in the hamlet, called Chagrin at the time. The townsfolk of Chagrin weren’t sold on the idea of a medical college—medical colleges were notorious for obtaining cadavers for anatomy training through sometimes unscrupulous methods.

The schemers, led by Dr. John Anderson, petitioned esteemed doctor Westel Willoughby Jr. to come and preside over their fair institution of higher medical learning. The good doctor was flattered but reluctant to leave New York. Anderson and company tried another tactic—they renamed the town after Willoughby. The great man, while thanking them for such an honor, never set foot in the town that still bears his name.

In the sultry summer of 1843, the restive spirit of one Eli Tarbel, a mature gentleman dead three days from typhoid fever, revolted against his defilers, protesting to his widow in a vivid and disturbing dream that his “body was being taken apart piece by piece at the Willoughby Medical College.” When Mrs. Tarbel awoke, she gathered her daughter and they went immediately to the cemetery. After discovering his grave empty, the alarmed woman alerted neighbors and the Lake County Guard, who stormed the school with pitchforks and torches looking for Eli’s missing parts.

The enraged mob invaded the college grounds, demanding answers and demanding justice. Mr. Tarbel was found and a sophisticated grave-robbing and body-snatching ring was uncovered and thwarted by an outraged spirit and his widow.

The college was unable to recover from this stain; enrollment dropped, staff left the school, and the curtain closed on the medical college for good in 1847. But various uprooted doctors and trustees went on to establish the Starling Medical College (now the Ohio State University College of Medicine), the Medical Department of Western Reserve (now Case Western Reserve University School of Medicine), and an all-female seminary that went on to become the Lake Erie College for Women.

Not a bad legacy for a bunch of grave robbers.

Take the Haunted Tour—The Parking Lot

This haunted tour is unusual because it begins outside the building. This location is so active that the hauntings spill out onto the property. Willoughby Coal is more than just the brick-and-mortar building that we see today, it is a place full of memories, ripe with history. Who’s to say that the ghosts that haunt Willoughby Coal weren’t here long before the current stone structure was built? Or that the land itself isn’t thick with the spirits of Native Americans, foreign explorers, and early settlers?

Personal Experience—
Theresa Argie: The Haunted Housewives Meet

I’ll never forget the first time I laid eyes on Willoughby Coal in September 2009, a pivotal moment in my paranormal career—the night I met my Haunted Housewives partner Cathi Weber.

Cathi ran a popular historic ghost walk in downtown Willoughby. Her reputation as a storyteller and historian preceded her. I was teaching ghost-hunting workshops and seminars at the time but wanted to get more involved with community events. I hoped to learn from her experience and wisdom.

Cathi invited me to join her on the ghost walk so we could meet and discuss the possibility of working together. We shared a love of the paranormal and history, and I was excited to see her in action.

Cathi was a natural. Her recitation at each stop was colorful and detailed, complete with profound personal observations and the perfect mix of horror and humor. The history of Willoughby was fascinating, and every stop intrigued me more than the one before.

After a short walk out of Willoughby’s bustling downtown, we made our way across the railroad tracks to a large gravel parking lot. Set about a hundred yards back, behind a smaller building that resembled a barn, was a three-story brick structure: our destination, Willoughby Coal.

As we moved closer to the building, I noticed other structures around it: a small red one-story “barn” with plants and outdoor décor used as a garden center; the Willoughby Area Welcome Center, set in an old silver train car painted with stripes of red, white, and blue; and a large white storage shed adjacent to the train tracks that run alongside the parking lot.

I moved slowly across the parking lot, the loose gravel crunching under my feet. I was mesmerized by the simple façade of the building, its candlelit windows peering at me like eyes. There was a round, bricked-up hole at the top center of the third floor, and I couldn’t take my eyes off it.

But as I approached, my body reacted in a surprising and painful manner: With each step my stomach churned more uncomfortably. One moment I was completely fine and the next I was overcome with nausea. I stopped, startled by the sudden sickness.

“Whew . . . wow,” I said out loud as I buckled over in pain.

Cathi noticed and immediately stopped. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I don’t know, I just suddenly feel awful.” I’d barely gotten the words out when I began to dry-heave.

“I’ll be fine, I’ll catch up in a minute.” I was totally embarrassed.

Reluctantly, Cathi continued with the rest of the group toward the front of the building. She stood atop the platform outside the main door with her candlelit lantern as the small crowd oohed and aahed at her story. I couldn’t hear her over my own noisy stomach. I took a sip from my water bottle, composed myself, and started walking again. The sick feeling returned, with a vengeance.

I stopped again and waited for the feeling to pass before I dared take another step.

After another brief pause, I started toward the group, but the discomfort continued to build. I felt the blood drain from my face and a cold sweat cover my body. I was shaking, trembling, weak in the knees. I thought I might fall to the ground. I couldn’t stop the feeling of dread from overtaking me. Now I really did have to throw up. I staggered over toward the garden center and vomited into a garbage can.

That was it for me. I wasn’t going any farther.

Cathi finished telli...

About this edition

• Publisher: Berkley
• Publication date: 2014
• ISBN 10: 0425270149
• ISBN 13: 9780425270141
• Binding: Paperback
• Number of pages: 368