Newspaper Clipping of the Day

Via Newspapers.com

This little news item relating stories of everyday life in 19th century Iowa appeared in the “New York Times,” May 7, 1874:

The following thrilling story of ghosts and ghostly manifestations is given to the world by the Des Moines (Iowa) Register: 

Ever since the Third street spook raised such a rumpus, ghostly visitors appear to have become numerous. Closely following the sudden demise of the uncertain spirit that disturbed the denizens of the Fourth Ward, were heard rumors of ghost-power running sewing machines. Several citizens well known testify that the wheels were turned by some unknown and invisible agency. This was followed by unnatural lights blazing on the walls and looking as green as an evening paper man afflicted with yellow jaundice. 

On Cherry street a resident reports that invisible bells are tinkled at unseemly hours. The tintinnabulation is like that of a Chicago charm bell, and is heard in different parts of the house, but never very close to any person. When any one goes to the place where it has been heard, the tinkling appears to be just back of him. 

A house on Locust street is afflicted with a bright light shining in a certain place on the wall of a bedroom. The light is plainly visible at a distance, but disappears whenever any one gets close to it. Another peculiarity is that it shines as brightly during the day as at night, although it is necessary to close the shutters and darken the room during the sunlit hours in order to see the spook in all its brilliancy. 

A Tenth street dog sees ghosts, but whether of man, beast, or book peddler is not explained. The animal will suddenly start from sleep and make a fierce attack upon some invisible foe, frequently following it around the house, growling and barking all the time. It has indulged in this phantom fighting for over two years. The phenomenon always occurs In daylight. 

One night last week a prominent citizen was awakened by the music of his piano, played most sweetly to the tune of “Robin Adair.” His daughter, the only musician in the house, was absent at the time, and he hurried to the parlor to see who it was thus charming the night with the sweetest melody of the time. Arriving there he found the apartment empty and the piano closed and locked. 

A lady residing in East Des Moines became very much interested in the Third street ghost, and made several visits to the locality where it was reported to be boarding. One evening, accompanied by several other ladies, she was at the house, returning home about 10 o'clock. Two of the ladies went into the parlor with her, and sat down to talk over the ghost. Suddenly a large music-box on the mantel commenced to play, continuing through five tunes, the instrument being geared for ten. When it ceased, the box was examined, and found to be entirely run down. It was replaced on the mantel, and a moment later it commenced to play again, continuing until all the tunes were played. 

In another house the gas in a certain room is frequently lighted by invisible matches. The person occupying the apartment has often gone to sleep after turning off the gas, and awakened hours after to find it brightly burning. Again it would be turned off, and at daylight the blaze would be as vivid as ever. This is a good-natured spook, for comparison of the gas bill before this phenomenon commenced and since its existence shows no increase in the amount consumed. 

A lady of eminent social position and undoubted truthfulness assured the author, a few days since, that her buried child frequently appeared to her when she visited the room where he died. In the course of the conversation the lady said that her sweetest moments were during those silent intervals with her lost darling.  Every feature of his face appears to her perfectly natural, and he always seems to clasp in his hands a favorite toy that lay on his bed when he died. Strange to say, the mother never remembers how the image is dressed. 

The above statements are told as given by the parties themselves, none of whom are of a character to be guilty of falsehood or of a desire to mislead.  They are undoubtedly sincere in the belief that they have seen and heard the phenomenon named.

I tip my hat to Des Moines for being a much more entertaining place than I had thought.  It sounds like a veritable Fortean Disneyland.

The Bride in the Well

"Charlotte Observer," January 23, 1937, via Newspapers.com

From all outward appearances, Lue Cree Overcash had, in a modest, unremarkable way, a charmed life.  Her family was decently well off and well-regarded.  The girl grew up to be one of the prettiest women in Iredell County, North Carolina.  She was described as a very cheerful person, and a devout Christian active in her local church.  In November 1936, the 20-year-old married 21-year-old Herman Westmoreland, a handsome, prosperous young man with an unsullied reputation.  His family was of some prominence in the community. The pair had been high school sweethearts.  In short, all looked bright for Lue Cree.  

Until the night when out of nowhere, life went full Strange Company on her.

After their marriage, Lue Cree and Herman settled in his family home, in the Amity Hill area.  As far as anyone could see, the new Mrs. Westmoreland got along excellently with her in-laws.  On the night of January 19, 1937, two months after her marriage, Lue Cree retired to bed after a day that was, as far as we know, uneventful.  In the house with her at the time was Herman’s father Harlee, two young sisters, Marie and Rachel, and Herman’s 17-year-old brother Clyde.  Herman was away at the time--during the week, he boarded with an uncle in order to be close to his job at Mooresville’s Cascade Mills.  There had been a severe storm during the day, and it was still raining hard when the family retired for the night.  The unpaved roads around the neighborhood were impassable quagmires.

Lue Cree’s bedroom was on the second floor of the eight-room house.  The rest of the family slept on the first floor.  We are told that no one in the household heard any unusual or suspicious noises during the night.  We are also told that the Westmorelands were completely baffled when they called Lue Cree to breakfast the next morning, only to find she was not in her bedroom.  Her watch and ring were on a table in her room, and the clothes she had worn the previous day were neatly draped on a chair.  Her bed had not been slept in.  The family immediately reported her disappearance to authorities.

As volunteers began to search around the home, someone noticed the odd fact that a mule was refusing to drink from a nearby well.  When searchers peered into the well, the mystery of Lue Cree’s whereabouts was quickly solved.

Mrs. Westmoreland was face-down in the well, wearing the silk pajamas she had donned the night before.  On one of her legs was a stocking and shoe, but the other was bare.   (When the well was drained, her other shoe and stocking were found at the bottom.)  She had a distinctive triangular wound on the back of her head.  Initial theories assumed that this was a case of either suicide or an accidental fall, but when the autopsy determined that she was already dead of a skull fracture before her body went into the well, police realized that, hard as it was to imagine, they had a murder case on their hands.  The coroner believed Lue Cree had been dead for about six hours before the body was thrown head-first into the well.  Another puzzling fact: her shoe prints were found on the opposite side of the house from the well.

"Statesville Record," January 26, 1937

The local authorities investigated her death as vigorously as they could, given their limited resources, but they were immediately hampered by an inability to find strong suspects or any trace of a motive.  Lue Cree’s in-laws were, of course, the most obvious culprits, but they all stoutly denied knowing anything of how their newest family member met her death, and no one could prove otherwise.  As for Herman Westmoreland, he was apparently able to show conclusively that he was in Mooresville at the time his bride perished.  

When the corpse was removed from the well, it was noted that the top of Lue Cree's one bare foot was heavily bruised. In December 1937, her body was exhumed and that foot amputated for forensic investigation.  Bits of clay were found between the toes, which strengthened the police theory that the murderer had planted his/her foot on that of Lue Cree's, either during the death struggle or during the progress to the well, where she was dumped to give the appearance that she had committed suicide.  This little revelation, of course, did nothing to help solve the case.

So that was that.  Although the investigation ended fairly early, the sinister mystery of Lue Cree’s death was one that haunted both the Overcash and Westmoreland families for many years later.  The case is still one that fascinates local historians.  Among them was a high school history teacher named Chris Stonestreet, who spent years researching the case.  After his story about the unsolved murder was published in the “Mooresville Tribune” in 2008, a member of the Westmoreland family sent him a poem titled “A Voice From the Grave,” which she had found in the attic of the family home.  Its author is unknown.  It read, in part:

I wonder why no arrest was made,

Was your sheriff so afraid?

Is his back bone of the hue?

Applied to jealousy and cowardice too?

Oh men, hang not your heads in shame,

Rise up, make your county worth its name.

That will probably be the closest we will ever get to an answer about who killed Lue Cree Westmoreland, and why.

Weekend Link Dump

 

"The Witches' Cove," Follower of Jan Mandijn

Welcome to the first Link Dump of April 2022!

The caddish side of John Keats.

Tragedy at the Salvation Army.

Mysterious ancient stone jars have been found in India.

A WWI massacre at sea.

The grim and ghostly history of an Edinburgh pub.

A brief look at turf mazes.

Amy Johnson, 1930s Queen of the Air.

Here's your chance to achieve your lifelong dream of visiting Henry III's toilet!

The life of a Victorian criminal.

A Regency-era forger.

Shropshire wedding folklore.

The female detective who foiled an assassination plot against Lincoln.

A deadly diet plan.

A shocking small-town murder.

A beautiful close-up image of the Sun.

Women in medieval leper hospitals.

The current state of cloning.  No one loves cats more than I do, but the thought of having one of them cloned gives me the heebie-jeebies.

The quest for the perfect foot.

Some famous corpses that failed to rest in peace.

Sacred sites and anomalous lights.

A remarkable Victorian doctor.

Donatello, father of the Renaissance.

A Copper Age "amber man."

That time the U.S. and the Soviets were in a race to revive the dead.  And you thought the Cuban Missile Crisis was bad.

A very early "curse tablet."

Rehearsing your own funeral.  An old "Midsomer Murders" included a guy who did that.  He said proudly that his coffin had silk lining because "nylon is so scratchy."

The medieval mind of C.S. Lewis.

The heroic merchantman and the French privateer.

A medieval exorcism manual.

Early Modern English writing about the Ottomans.

A "very public and messy divorce."  For a blogger, that is the best kind of divorce.

An 18th century travel writer.

The murder immortalized by Poe.

Werewolves of Quebec.  But was their hair perfect?

Has the Dyatlov Pass mystery been solved?

That's it for this week!  See you on Monday, when we'll look at a bride's puzzling death.  

In the meantime, here's this lovely Welsh folk song:

 

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

Via Newspapers.com

Railroads are one of those sites that, for whatever reason, are a particular magnet for ghosts.  The following example comes from the “Minneapolis Star Tribune,” October 26, 1872:

The following wonderful and marvelous story, which comes from a source that prevents its being hooted as a canard, we clip from yesterday's Pioneer and leave our readers to await further developments:

Our readers will all remember the terrible accident which took place in a blinding snowstorm at Randall Station, on the main line of the St. Paul and Pacific Road, in March last, which caused the death of several persons. Among the victims of that terrible accident was a section foreman named Connelly. This man was very much attached to his division, and took great pride in keeping everything right and tidy, as far as his supervision extended. Although his station was located, at that time, in a sparsely settled section of the country on a treeless waste, so to speak, where especially there was nothing to break the force of the wind which at times swept over the bleak prairies with the force of a hurricane, yet so great was Connelly’s attachment to his section that he refused several more lucrative positions which were offered to him.

Upon his death by the accident above referred to, the Randall Station was given to another man, whose name is Connelly.  The latter has been employed on the road for a long time and is known to be a sober, industrious, and intelligent man, one in whose fidelity the company has the most implicit confidence, and the last man almost that any one who knows him, would suspect of being tinctured in the slightest degree with superstitious notions. For some time after assuming charge of the Division everything went along satisfactory. This state of things was not to last however. For some time past Mr. Connelly has complained that he could not sleep nights. He avers that he is visited at all hours of the night by the 

APPARITION OF HIS DEAD PREDECESSOR. 

The ghostly form appears at his bedside, and and vainly endeavors to tell his tale by unearthly motions, at times apparently entreating and anon with every appearance of anger and revenge. Several times Mr. Connelly has been thrown from his bed with great violence, and his arms and other portions of his body show the marks of rough handling. The imprint of hands and finger-nails are plainly visible, which he asserts have been left there by his ghostly visitor. To such an extent has this most mysterious visitation been carried, that Mr. Connelly has petitioned to be removed to another section, or granted permission to erect another house on a different portion of the section. He says it is not only these visitations which disturb him, but 

THE SPIRIT OF THE DEAD MAN 

prevents him from performing his duties both day and night. He has seen the awful spectacle in the daytime while at his labors, and the shadowy form has, by unmistakable motions, ordered him away. 

For a long time Mr. Connelly refrained from mentioning anything about these mysterious appearances, knowing that he would not be believed, and in all probability would be laughed at, and it is probable he never would have mentioned it, but for an occurrence which took place a short time ago. 

One evening after the labors of the day had closed, and as Mr. Connelly and the men under his charge were eating their supper, the door of the house opened noiselessly, and in the doorway, in the full gaze of all who were present 

STOOD THE AWFUL APPARITION 

of the dead man. The shadow remained long enough to make a number of demonstrations of a revengeful character, and then disappeared, apparently melting into space. An awful feeling of terror fell upon that small party of men, and for a time they were speechless, gazing into each other's faces with eyes distended with horror. They were not men easily frightened, and some of them had looked death in the face without flinching. But this 

UNEARTHLY SUPERNATURAL VISITATION 

which was recognized at once bv all as the spirit of the man they had all well known while living, was more than they could stand. When their momentary terror had subsided they commenced in awe-stricken tones to tell each other what they had seen. It was then that Mr. Connelly related his experience, and it is needless to say he was not laughed at or disbelieved. The sight had been too real and too palpable to all to admit of dispute. They had seen the veritable ghost of their former fellow workman. Since that time there have been 

MOST MYSTERIOUS OCCURRENCES 

taking place at that lonely station on the prairie. Several tools, which were known to have been put away, are missing, and various other things have taken place to hinder Mr. Connelly and his crew of men from performing their work. 

Nor is this all.  The engineer on one of the freight trains avers that several times he has seen the apparition in the night engaged on work upon the track, the same as when dead man was living. At one time it will be engaged with a crowbar, raising the rails, and making motions as though giving directions to a gang of men.

Again he has seen it standing upon the track in advance of his engine, arms stretched out as if to give warning of danger ahead, and the engineer says at such times his engine acts as if plowing its way through drifting snow, and although he pulls his engine "wide open," the speed of the train is sensibly decreased until it reaches a certain point, when it will plunge ahead as though just relieved from some obstruction.

We understand that these most mysterious doings have been reported to the officials but they, of course, are inclined to doubt the truth of the statements; but so serious has the matter become that steps have been taken to have some of the employees of the road stay at the station house a number of nights and have the matter thoroughly investigated.

The above is a statement of facts, which come to us well authenticated, and we give them as one of the most singular stories we remember of hearing. Should any more facts be developed after a thorough investigation of the matter, we shall hasten to lay them before our readers.

The first Mr. Connelly certainly proved that it’s possible to be too fond of your job.

Close Encounters of the Tourist Kind

"Hood County News," August 16, 2005, via Newspapers.com. This is a bed which was built specifically for space aliens.  These people obviously had the right idea.

I’ll be the first to say that the following story is pretty “out there” even for this blog.  It sounds so much like one of the old “Coneheads” skits from “Saturday Night Live,” that, to be honest, I hesitated about devoting a blog post to it.  However, it’s such a delightfully nutty tale, I decided to share it, and all of you can simply make of it what you will.

On the morning of May 15, 1970, Dorothy Simpson was at her job at a motel just outside St. Louis, Missouri.  Everything seemed normal.  As she sat at her desk, going over billing documents, she heard a “whistling sigh.”

That did not seem normal.  And when she looked up from her paperwork, she was confronted by four people, who looked so alike they were presumably family: a man, a woman, and two youngsters, a boy and girl.  This would have been normal if not for the family’s appearance, which was, to say the least, unusual.  They were all so tiny, they could barely look over the top of the desk.  Simpson’s visitors wore elegant and obviously expensive clothes: tailored suits for the males, delicate peach-colored dresses for the females.  Their hair looked so unnatural, Simpson believed they were all wearing wigs.

The man asked her, in a strange, high-pitched voice, “Do you have a room to stay?  Do you have a room to stay?”  Simpson answered in the affirmative, and told him the price of the room.  However, the man seemed oddly befuddled by her answer.  He turned to the woman as if asking for an interpretation of Simpson’s words.  After a moment of awkward silence all around, the man took a stack of bills from his pocket and handed them to Simpson.  She noticed that some of the banknotes were of large denominations and very crisp, as if just off the printing press.  This caused her to suspect they were counterfeit, but a quick test indicated they were genuine.

Simpson took two twenty-dollar bills and handed the rest of the bills back to the man.  He was too small to reach the room reservation form, so Simpson signed for him.  He gave his name as “A. Bell.”  When he stepped forward, Simpson was struck by how odd their faces were.  They had very pointy chins, large dark eyes, virtually bridgeless noses, and lipless mouths that were no wider than the noses.  Their skin was unnaturally pale.  It was as if some alien beings dressed up as humans for Halloween, and did not do an entirely convincing job of it.

“Where are you from?” Simpson asked.

His arm shot upwards, and he replied, “We come from up there.  Up there.”

The woman, obviously irritated by her companion’s candor, pulled his arm down.  She told Simpson that they were from Hammond, Indiana.  (The motel’s manager later told Simpson that the Hammond address they gave did not exist.)  The man then signed the register, but in a very uncomfortable fashion, as if he had never held a pen before.  The family (“family?”) asked where the motel’s restaurant was, and left to get their meal.

The other employees soon noted that their humble little motel was being graced by some mighty strange guests.  Their waitress at the restaurant got a bit unnerved serving them.  Aside from their peculiar appearance, they kept studying the menu, asking questions about where perfectly ordinary foods such as milk or bread came from.  It was as if they knew nothing about human cuisine.  The woman finally ordered peas and milk for herself and the children, and peas, a steak, and water for the man.  They ate one pea at a time, using a knife to bring it to their tiny mouths, and using an odd sucking motion to swallow it.  The man’s mouth was such a small slit, he was unable to eat even tiny slices of the steak.  They all stopped eating simultaneously, after which the man handed the waitress a twenty-dollar bill.  She left to get change, but when she returned, they were gone.

The bellhop got their luggage and began leading them to their room.  When the family saw the elevator, they were obviously confused and terrified by it.  The bellhop did not have an easy time convincing them it was safe.  When he let them into their room, he turned on the lights.  The man immediately began shouting at him that the light would hurt the children’s eyes.  By this point, the poor bellhop was so unnerved that he fled without even waiting for a tip.

The next morning, the motel workers found that their, shall we say, otherworldly guests had vanished from their room.  No one had seen them leave, even though the front door was the only way they could exit without setting off security alarms.

The incident somehow reached the ears of John Schroeder, a member of the UFO Study Group of Greater St. Louis.  After he spoke to Simpson and the other four employees who had dealt with the foursome, he could only conclude that, bizarre as their story was, they all seemed perfectly sincere--and they were also obviously still a little frightened by the experience.

I suppose there’s nothing more to say.

Weekend Link Dump

 

"The Witches' Cove," Follower of Jan Mandijn

Welcome to the first Link Dump of Spring 2022!

To celebrate, let's all have tea in the Strange Company HQ garden.

Where the hell is Christopher Columbus?

Why we all have gotten "The Road Not Taken" wrong.

It turns out that we goofed about the name of "Machu Picchu," too.

A planned trip to the Moon...in the 17th century.

A suicide in Coalbrookdale.

The busy--and certainly unusual--life of Rose Levere.

Tommy James, the Mafia, and "the nastiest person in show business."  This story is quite the wild ride.

Madame Cama, Indian political activist.

The legendary allure of Point d’Alençon lace.

Scottish witches are being pardoned.  Albeit a bit late in the game.

The Great Zeppelin Raid.

The 1922 Wilmcote railway accident.

The Earl who was a particularly eccentric Ufologist.

Native Americans and "little beings."

The odd stories behind some famous artworks.

The other houses of Downing Street.

Some modern-day body-snatchers.

Well, this is one way to cope with burglars.

In search of consolation.

A case where sleepwalking was used as a murder defense.

That dinosaur-destroying asteroid?  It was even worse than we thought.

The bad boy and the funeral.

England's "last alchemist."

The "titans of Antarctica."

A strange 17th century sexual predator.

The trial of the "Carrick Witch."

The women of the Betty Crocker test kitchens.

A 3D recreation of a Stone Age woman.

Some charts that put time in perspective.

The myth of Agent 355.

A mountain in China is laying stone eggs.

In which the Vanderbilts throw a heck of a party.

How "well-heeled" came to mean "rich."

The disappearance of Flying Tiger Line Flight 739.

A famous early American murder case.

How to eat like Ernest Hemingway.

Tige, cat mascot of the NYPD.

The lives of two children of John of Gaunt.

A "love hoax" which did not turn out well.  They seldom do.

The case of the stolen knighthood.

That's all for this week!  See you on Monday, when we'll have probably the weirdest story I've ever had on this blog.  Yes, weirder than the garden hose that kept burying itself.  Weirder than the cookie-loving Martians.  Weirder than Puffy, Cat Hypnotist.  Buckle up.  In the meantime, here's some Vivaldi.

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

Via Newspapers.com

This little oddity appeared in the “St. Louis Globe-Democrat,” January 17, 1876:

A thrilling affair occurred a few evenings since near Sheridan. Our informant, who has not heretofore been a believer in ghosts or hobgoblins and who is a man of strong and steady nerve, was so unstrung by the horrid vision presented to his view that he is rather disinclined to converse on the subject. The following facts, however, were gleaned from his account of the occurrence: 

He was on his way home, on a rather dark and misty night, on horseback, and, as usual, without any thought of danger or of supernatural things, and, when some distance this side of Sheridan, he was astonished at the terror of his horse, which endeavored to turn back, and seemed wild with fright. On looking ahead, a little to one side, the rider was stricken first with astonishment, then with fear, at beholding a bright light on the bank of the lonely creek, at first gleaming brilliantly, and then gradually decreasing in intensity, until it almost disappeared, seeming to recede as if borne backward with incredible rapidity.

Stimulated by curiosity, he endeavored to approach it more closely, but his terrified horse refused to go forward, vainly struggling to turn and rush away. As the light almost disappeared in the distance the trembling animal was urged forward, and was already past the place where it had first appeared, which was some little distance from the road, when far up in a field of rising ground the light again appeared, borne by what appeared to be a human figure, clothed in white, approaching with amazing rapidity, while as it advanced, silently gliding along the ground, the light, which it seemed to carry in one hand, blazed forth with fast increasing brilliancy.

What it was like he could not exactly say, but it was something shadowy and indistinct, and yet horrible and ghastly in the extreme. Horse and rider were motionless with wonder and curiosity, but when the horrible phantom had approached within about 100 yards, terror became master, and the frightened horse sprang forward with a burst of speed that almost unseated his master, and stopped not until he was at his own stable-door, when he was quickly put within, and the man, without mentioning the matter even to his wife, hastened to bed and spent a sleepless night. 

His haggard appearance next day caused inquiry. and he was induced to give his account of the matter to an Eagle representative. It is hinted that a horrible tragedy once occurred near the haunted spot, and that the phantom is seen once every fifty years. How much truth there is in this latter statement our informant was unable to say; but he intends to leave the investigation to someone else, having had enough of ghosts for a long time to come.