Sorry Benson, that story hapened to someone MY aunt knows…
Actually I did hear that exact same story from a girl i went to school with, happened to her aunt
Interesting. Well, I’ve verified the story. There’s also a great many people who know and love the story as much as I do and we’ve all told just about everyone we know. I’m sure it’s been spread far and wide.
There’s an urban legend here in South Bend, IN that I have heard floating around for ages. I have no idea if there is even an iota of truth to it, but it’s intriguing.
Directly about 1/4 mile to the west of the University of Notre Dame, lies St. Mary’s School for Girls. (Now known as St. Mary’s Academy)
The story is that in the late 1800’s to early 1900’s, the priests from Notre Dame, would discreetly traverse secret deep underground tunnels, which led to St. Mary’s. There, in the tunnel, they would meet with the nuns of St Mary’s, and have wild orgies. That’s not the freakiest part though. The horror of it all is said that the nuns would become pregnant, and abort the fetuses, because they didn’t want to publicly lose their standing in the Catholic church community. They would then dispose of the dead fetuses and babies in side of the tunnels. The tale goes that the tunnels are strewn with staggering numbers of infant remains to this day. Supposedly the tunnels were ceased to be used after the horror became too dificult to keep secret anymore.
I assume it’s all utter BS, but it IS a pretty creepy local UL. I certainly wouldn’t want to explore those tunnels if the legend were true. ::::shudder::::
We had theGoatman legend when I was growing up.
Scared the hell out of me. He supposedly lived in the woods by the elementary school. One Halloween, when I was at a Brownie meeting, they took us all out into the woods and showed us a burned down house that was where he used to live. After they had us little six-year-olds nice and scared, they took us back to school to give us our snack. Suddenly, some freak in a goat mask banged on the window. I’m surprised I didn’t wet my pants. Those Brownie leaders were sadistic.
After that, I would lay awake in bed at night, terrified I’d hear the sound of cloven hooves clopping down the street outside my bedroom window. One warm summer night, I had fallen asleep on the couch. My parents left the front door open (this was back in the early 70s) so the breeze would come in throug the screen door. I woke up in the middle of the night, and was paralyzed with fear, praying the Goatman wouldn’t come up on the front porch.
Even as a teen, when we’d all party in those woods, I’d still get nervous and would keep an eye and ear out for anything strange.
Sheri
It might be tacky, but it’s true.
[QUOTE]
*Originally posted by DarkWriter *
We had theGoatman legend when I was growing up.
Oh my! Two places with “goatman” legends! I grew up in the Mojave Desert and we have a “goatman” legend, too. He only comes out at night, usually when you’re out alone or just with a small group of friends. He’s supposed to do unspeakably evil things to you if you should encounter him, though no one really ever has. He’s half-man/half-goat and sounds particularly nasty. Wow. I haven’t thought about him since high school (at a small party where we all spent the evening trying to freak each other out).
My hometown is small and we have this story about an old house just on the border (California/Arizona). The house is large, one of the largest in town, and quite old. In the story/legend, the house was used as a brothel when the railroad first came through town. Legend has it that under the house there are numerous passageways throughout town so that prostitutes could get to/from the house to the railway station. This is where the story gets a little fuzzy. Supposedly a young girl, abandoned here in the desert without any other means to support herself, has to resort to prostitution (she becomes what I’ve heard called a “crib girl.” She endures humiliation and heartbreak, only to die tragically (the circumstances of her death vary from being murdered to just dying of a broken heart). She is said to haunt that house to this day, along with all of the other hopeless people who have died there, wandering the passageways, never able to make it to the station or back home.
Here in central Indiana, tornados (tornadoes? Calling Dan Quayle) are a fact of life.
One spring evening, a man roared up to a filling station on the west side of Anderson on a motorcycle. He ran inside, wiped his face with a fringed leather glove, and told everybody, “Get out of here! There’s a tornado headed this way!”
He, and everybody else left. Fifteen minutes later, the filling station was reduced to matchsticks.
Down State Road 32, a diner in Edgewood was in the middle of the evening rush. An agitated guy burst in, telling everyone to “get the Hell out, there’s a tornado coming!” The joint was leveled ten minutes later.
Ten miles away, almost to Lapel, folks in a trailer park were alarmed by a biker in fringed black leather, bearing news of a tornado coming their way. Everyone ran for low ground, hearing the sound of a departing Harley mixed with the “freight train” sound of the approaching disaster.
Nobody ever saw the biker again, but a helmet and a fringed leather glove were found among the wreckage of the trailer park.
Kids in New Mexico hear a lot about La Llorona, “the crying woman”.
In Monroe, MI we have “Dog Lady Island”. On an island in the River Raisin close to Lake Erie there supposedly used to be a woman who either:
A) had a pack of dogs and used to sic them on whoever trespassed
B) was raised by dogs, acted like one, and killed trespassers herself
C) was half-human, half-dog
… depending on you ask.
A local radio station bought the island to use for concerts, but only one ever took place. Anyway, they cleaned it up and left it deserted, so I guess the Dog Lady had to move someplace else.
Maybe to YOUR town! Bwa ha ha ha!!!
New Jersey pinelands - thick woods - many campgrounds…
The legend of the Jersey Devil.
Hence the name of the New Jersey Devils, who are just another NY franchise really.
I love the melonhead story. Here in KC, people claim that in the Wolcott Caves just west of town, Satanists have built a temple to their Lord and Master, complete with an upside down cross and horse’s blood dripping down the walls.
Sacrifices are held regularly.
The school where my kid sister goes to (and I went to, in my time)…
It’s built on a tremendous graveyard. Literally.
It’s made for some interesting sleepover stories.
Well, this isn’t a very interesting story, but at least it’s not an urban legend.
My mom and her sisters swear that the house they grew up in in Pine Bluff, Arkansas was haunted. Apparently, they often had the following conversation:
(Georgia comes into my mother’s room in the middle of the night:)
Georgia: Kathy, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?
My Mom: Me? I’m not crying. Why?
(They both hear someone bawling.)
My Mom: It must be Susie.
They go to investigate–It’s not Susie, either. And Mom and Dad are snoring away in their bedroom.
I seem to remember something about the house being built on an Indian graveyard, but I’m not sure where that comes from. But Georgia, Susie, and my Mom all swear that this happened to them multiple times.
You know, everytime I see “La Llorona” in my head, I hear it in the tune of “My Sharona”.
L-l-l-la Llorona!
Weird N.J. (to which I, a Pennsylvanian, proudly subscribe) has recently added a Weird U.S. section to accommodate out of state contributions:
http://www.weirdnj.com/__weirdus/story_index.html
One submission cites the Melonheads as being located in Ohio, rather than Michigan.
Perhaps Ohio offered some sort of tax incentives to lure them in?
I’ve actually heard a couple of different versions of this, with different girl’s names, but the boy’s name is always David.
Just outside of Stowe, Vermont, there is one of the many old covered bridges that are scattered around the state.
The story goes that there was a teenaged couple that used to tryst at the bridge late at night, kept apart during the day by their families. After a whole summer of Rose and David meeting like this, and into autumn, they decided to run away and make a life together in Canada.
They both pledged to be at the bridge at midnight the next night to elope.
Rose said, “I know that you love me, and you would leave your family for me, but if you change your mind, just don’t show up. I will know.”
David said, “I know that you love me, and would leave all that you have behind for me, but if you change your mind, I will understand. If you don’t come to the bridge, I will know.”
They parted with a lingering kiss, and went to their homes.
The next night, Rose waited at the bridge with a small bundle, looking into the water and waiting for her lover. He didn’t come. The moon rose in the sky and the wind blew sharp and cold from the north. Still he didn’t come. She shivered in her thin coat as the bare branches rattled, and still he didn’t come.
Finally, in despair, she sat and cried. When she had cried for what felt like hours, she decided that she couldn’t live without his love. She ran and jumped into the river, striking her head on a rock and dying, her body washed swiftly downstream by the current.
A short time later, David arrived. He waited on the bridge until dawn for her. When she didn’t come he made his way home, sad and swearing to never love again.
Eventually, the boy grew up and became a man. He married and had children. The bridge became a popular courting spot for young couples. One day, when David’s son was old enough to date, he came home and told his father a strange story:
He was with his date by the bridge, to watch the moonlight on the water. His girl was cold and uncomfortable, she kept saying that she wanted to go home, that she didn’t like it there. The son dismissed her complaints. There was a warm breeze, he said, and it’s a good place to rest for a while. In a huff the girl left, leaving him alone by the bridge. He felt compelled to go to the shore of the river, and he heard a girl’s voice whispering eerily in his ear:
“David, you’ve come. Come get me, and we can go. Come in the water, and we can go…”
He stared into the water, and took a step forward… Then, for a split second he could think again. He turned and ran for home, arriving shaky and panting from the long run.
Since that night, there have been odd things that can happen at the bridge. If you are a woman, you will be very uncomfortable there, and sometimes it will feel as though someone keeps pinching you. There will always be a cold breeze chilling your bones. If you are male, and you go to the bridge by night alone, you may see Rose there. If you let her call you David, she will let you kiss her, and she will tell you of her love for you. But only if you come in the summer, or when the leaves are still bright. If you come to Rose when the leaves have died, and only their skeletons rattle on the branches…
there was a guy who was riding his motorcycle at night around where i grew up and he hit a chain going across a dirt road, and was killed.
the story quickly became "the guy who’s head was cut off!!! by the chain across the road!
there were lots of “drowned bodies that mysteriously surface, then disappear again” stories as well, but none were true, i imagine.
Erm… do you happen to have issue #8 laying around by any chance? I seriously think I may be mentioned in it.
This isn’t as sensational of some of these, but it actually happened (you can look it up!) I worked for a theater chain in Elkhart, IN owned by a guy named Bill Miller (I actually worked for his son, Phil, when he took over.) Anyways, Bill had a manager that he suspected of stealing from him, so he went to the theater before opening to confront the guy. The guy promptly pulled out a gun and shot him and hid the body in the storage room with the sleeves of drinking cups and marquee letters. He took Miller’s car and pushed it into the St. Joseph river. The wife didn’t report the body missing until the next day and that’s when they finally found him. Because no one at the theater had needed to change the marquee or restock the concession stand the body was in the theater all day and night, through all the shows with all the customers and employees there. ::shudder::. I worked at that same theater (the one at the Concord Mall, which I think is no longer there) and every so often some kids would come in and say “Is this where that guy was killed?” I’d say “Yeah, wanna see where they found the body?” I’d take them in and show them. The funny part was that at some point someone had spilled red paint on the floor, so you could always say “and THERE’S HIS BLOOD!” But not many people actually fell for that, lol. We did like to claim the theater was haunted, but not in a very interesting way. For instance if the ice maker kicked on and the vibrations knocked someone’s drink over, we’d all go “Bill!”
Well I’m from Larchmont, NY (which is very close to Terrytown) and we don’t have much in the way of local legend. There are however rumours of escaped mental patients in the woods that border the golf courses and that kids like to have keggers in. There was also a nasty murder in the basement of the movie house. Lunatic axed his parents IIRC (the murder actually happened, making the the Larchmont Movie Theatre kinda creepy until it was renovated and lost the Old Tyme feel that made it creepy).
Now I’m in Boulder, CO. In 20 years or so I’ll post the legend we all know is in the making.