In October of 1992 my grandpa died. Everyone was really upset but we had expected it to happen soon. My mom and I received a piano and two cats that had belonged to my grandpa.

Things were pretty normal despite missing him. Then whenever I played my favorite song on the piano (which happens to be my grandpa’s favorite too) I would hear someone walking through the house, even though no one was there. One night after the playing of the piano I was woke up by the cat on my bed. I heard footsteps again and they seemed to be coming toward my room. I soon felt as if someone was in my room standing over my bed. the cat then stood up and lowered his head and started purring. By then I wasn’t at all scared, I was happy. From that point whenever I was missing my grandpa I would just play the piano, for I knew then that it was just my grandpa coming to listen to his favorite song.

When I was 12 we moved into a new house. It was built on a piece of land across Isner Creek. The first night I stayed there, I heard the sound of drums. I looked out my window and saw nothing. The next day was the anniversary of the battle of Rich Mountain. That night I was outside on the bridge by my house when I saw a small group of men dressed in civil war uniforms marching through the creek. When I said something they stopped marching and disappeared. Every night of the year I can hear them march from my window. Now I am just used to it. They don’t hurt anyone so it’s no big deal.

I am from a small town called Frederick Maryland which is very close to the panhandle of West Virginia. My ghostly story takes place in Harpers Ferry, West Virginia, up by the famous ” Jefferson Rock” which overlooks the river.

A few friends and myself whom we consider ourselves to be amateur ghost hunters, decided to go night hiking in Harpers Ferry. This time we decided to take a different path then the one we usually take which is up all the stairs. We decide this time to take the path without stairs behind the wax museum and by the root cellars.

As we passed the church on the top of the mountain there on our way up to “Jefferson Rock”, I felt something tugging on my hand. I looked over at my friends and none of them were holding my hand…

I looked down at my hand and there stood a little girl all dressed in white holding onto my hand and a puppy walking next to her. As we continued up to Jefferson Rock, the little girl was still holding onto my hand following my every move. I know she was a ghost but I never once felt afraid of her. Since that one time, my friends and myself have been night hiking numerous times and have encountered nasty spirits as well as the nice one’s like the little girl all dressed in a long white 19th century gown.

Some of the “meaner” spirits have played tricks on us, such as breaking a flash light, tossing my friend down and hill and tree branches falling on top of us. I never did find out anything about this little girl, and I am still looking for information on her… I hope to someday find out who she is and why she is such a warm feeling ghost.

Several years ago, when I was a teenager I was visiting my grandmother’s house in Cabin Creek. Also visiting were some relatives from out of state. Among them was my Aunt Bea. She was a fine, Christian woman who truly “lived” her religious convictions. Therefore, when she began to tell me of a late summer picnic that turned ghostly for her and her husband as well as their children, I listened closely and never doubted a word of what she related.

There is a park not far from Charleston that is dotted with idyllic picnic spots. Some are tucked away and are more private than others. However, one is along the main thruway. It is on the right side of the road, and it is necessary to drive over a small bridge to get to the actual picnic spot. Even though the area is not large, a merry-go-round sat close to the picnic table.

After my cousins finished their meal, the two younger of the three decided to do some exploring. Cut into the hillside directly behind the picnic area are steps made of stone and rocks. The two youngsters were surprised to find an old cemetery on top of the hill. They were not afraid, probably because it was still daylight out, and because their parents and older brother were just down on the other side of the hill packing up the remnants of the family meal.

Eventually Aunt Bea called for her two exploring children to rejoin them, which they obediently did.

The family car, an old, white station wagon, sat in the middle of the bridge its hatchback open as my aunt and uncle began to load the blanket and baskets. My cousins were already piling into the car, squabbling over whom would be “stuck” having to sit in the middle.

Suddenly, my aunt and uncle turned around as they heard the echoing sounds of children’s laughter coming from behind them—coming from the creaking, whirling, empty, merry-go-round.

The wooden carousal spun around under the force of something they could not see, but they could clearly hear the voices of children as they played. Inside the car, my cousins fell silent and afraid.

It must have taken only a few moments for my uncle to slam down the hatch on the old station wagon and for him and my aunt to bail into the car. As they pulled out of the picnic spot, the merry-go-round still spun and the sounds of children’s voices rang out. Only now, my family could make out very faint white figures playing around the heavy, wooden merry-go-round. They sped away, never looked back and never went back there again. In addition, until that summer day at my grandmother’s house, no one spoke of the incident.

My Uncle refused to talk of the haunted picnic and my elder cousin, the oldest of their three children, left the room as his mother began telling me the tale. My Aunt Bea had no problem telling me the story though.

I have been through this park many, many times, but never to that particular spot. The bridge has been replaced, the rocky steps up to the cemetery are overgrown and the green, wooden merry-go-round was taken down years ago.

I only believe this story because my Aunt Bea told it me. Her beliefs were strong and steadfast then and remained that way until her death years later on Halloween.

It was a summer night around midnight. I had just left work from Air Res on Ritter Drive. I had stopped by for a sandwich at 7-11 in Shady Spring and I was on my way home. Driving past the old antique shop at the Cherry Creek Dip, I saw something white on the right side of the road. As I got closer, I could tell that it was a young lady dressed in a wedding gown. I thought it was strange that she was there at that time of night and as I was going up the hill I had decided to turn around to see if she needed any help. When I looked back it was pitch black. You couldn’t see any lights at all. The lady had vanished.

The orange and red light that has been seen on the slopes of Cole Mountain have mystified the local residents for well over 100 years… what secrets lay behind the origins of this southern “spook light”?

Outside of Moorefield, West Virginia stands Cole Mountain, an offshoot of the Appalachians and a place of mystery to many who live in the area. It is here that a strange light has been appearing since the middle part of the 1800’s. The light has been reported by hundreds of people over the years and it is said to bob up and down the mountainside. No one has ever been able to get close to the light and it is best seen from a road at the base of the mountain.

Few recall the origins of the this odd phenomena, or when the sightings first started, but there is a legend that just might explain how this particular haunting came to be.

There was a local landowner named Charles Jones who took one of his most loyal slaves coon-hunting with him one night. The slave was carrying the lantern to light the path as the two men followed the barking of the dogs up onto the slopes of Cole Mountain. Suddenly, the dogs began to bay and Jones and the slave took off in pursuit. The slave, being much younger than Jones, took the lead with the lantern and his master followed.

When the boy found the dogs, he discovered that Jones was no longer behind him. The black man, although he was a slave, was also friends with Jones, who had always treated him kindly with love and respect. He went off in search of his master, hunting all night and all through the next morning. Finally, exhausted, he returned home but no trace of Jones had been found.

Overcome with fear, he told the Jones family what had happened and a new search party was started. Friends and neighbors gathered, and led by the slave, they returned to Cole Mountain. Groups of men searched for an entire week, but Charles Jones was never found. The slave was in torment. He had been devoted to Jones and cared for him so deeply that no one even considered that he would have harmed the man.

Long after everyone else had given up, he continued to search the mountain. Exactly one year to the night when his master had vanished, the slave took his lantern and returned to the mountain for one final search…. he was never seen again.

The people who live around Cole Mountain say that the light seen here is the lantern of the slave as he still searches for his missing friend. Many in the region have had strange encounters with it. Several times the light has chased hunters down off the mountain… the light has scared away their dogs and has made strange sounds that have frightened the hunters too.

My mother told me this story. It happened to her years ago (1940’s) when she lived in the coal mining region of West Virginia, and was then married to her first husband. If my own mother didn’t tell me this first-hand, I’m not sure if I’d believe it, but my mother isn’t one to spin yarns.

She had walked down the street (approx 1/4 mile) to her mother’s house for supper. When she left Granny’s house, it was dark. On the other side of the street, between Granny’s house and Mom’s house there was a mountain which had a dirt trail leading up to a house. A light caught her eye, so she watched it figuring someone was walking up the trail carrying a lantern. But when the light rose up into the trees, and then up above the trees, she thought it was rather strange, but really didn’t think too much about it.

When she got to her house, she called for her girlfriend (she lived in the apartment upstairs from Mom) to come out to see it. All of a sudden her friend started uncontrollably crying and saying that there was going to be an accident in the mines. Both her husband and my mother’s worked the night shift in the coal mines. That every time that light was seen an accident happened. Legend had it that an old coal miner used to live up on that mountain, and that he had died in an explosion in the mines. Since then, his ghost comes back to warn the men when there’s going to be another explosion. And sure enough, whenever that light was seen, there was an explosion indeed.

My mom tried to calm her friend down, and they all went in for the night. At about 2:00 am Mom was awoken by a knock at the door. It was some men from the mine who came to tell her that there was an explosion in the mine, and that her husband had been hurt (he lost two fingers in the explosion).

From that night on, Mom said she would never look up that mountain trail again. She didn’t want to see the lantern light.

In 1985 I had a new home built on a ridge of property that was given to me by my mother.

As far as I know there was never another homestead in this particular spot. I do not know the history of the land however.

Soon after we moved into the house in May of 1987 I would be sitting in the house and there would be cold breeze go by me that was so unbelievably cold. It was like it was sub zero weather and it would be 80 degrees outside.

This would also happen in the dead of winter when all the doors and windows would be closed up and there would be a hot fire in the wood stove.

I have never been able to explain this. I do feel like there was something or someone there but what it was I have no idea. I moved out of the house in 1990 due to financial reasons and whatever it was did not follow me so it is something that has to do with that location. I think that whatever it was, was harmless but yet wanted to let me know that it was there. I never felt any kind of fear with this chilling cold.

Chapmanville East Elementary School is very spooky first of all. It’s a very large and exceptionally old brick building and it stinks inside. The school has a lot of character to say the least.

I knew a teacher that worked there very shortly. She said that sometimes if she was working after school hours she could hear spooky sounds, but always ending in a thunderous thump. I also have a very good friend who had a lot of awfully bad experiences happen to her on the school property, evil experiences at that.

I heard a story when I was about 15 years old, (I’m 23 now), and I asked an old person about the credentials of the story and he verified its accuracy. The story goes: Sometime in the middle of winter in the 1930’s, the furnace broke. The employees of the school wondered why it had not been promptly fixed. The school staff and everyone began to assume the handy man / janitor (whatever he was) had quit his job at the school and moved away. (While in the coldest days of the year.) Nobody could locate him; they needed him because he was the only one who knew how to fix the furnace.

The furnace was broke for a while (I don’t know how long) and they had to call off school until they got the furnace fixed. The conditions were entirely to cold to work or learn in. Being in the dead of winter, it most likely took a while to find somebody to fix the furnace, who wasn’t already tied up with other repair jobs.

The furnace repairmen eventually were found, and so they set out to expose the problem. They were cleaning it and found hard pieces that weren’t burned. The repairmen were able to immediately identify the pieces as bone fragments. They had an investigator look at the pieces and sure enough, it was bone remnants or whatever those bone – like things are that won’t burn easily. Through dental records they eventually confirmed these remains belonged to the school’s handy man / janitor. He had only worked after school hours and someone or something must have knocked him out or done something to get him into the boiler. It was determined that the body in the furnace caused the breakdown of the furnace. Nobody was ever convicted of the crime and the incident is still unsolved, but I heard most folk in Chapmanville speculate the KKK were behind it. They were in town around the time the janitor came up missing.

A lot of people living near the school claim to hear noise in it during late hours. Howling screams have been heard coming from the dilapidated building paralyzing its victims with fear. Maybe some of the sounds can be explained by the age of the structure or the building settling may be the cause. Whatever may be causing the sounds is up to you to ponder, but we do know one thing, schools don’t plague themselves with evil.

First, I am not crazy, and I have never told anyone this story because my family doesn’t usually believe in ghosts and the paranormal. Let me give you some background for this story. My family cemetery sits on a hill at the mouth of a “holler” hidden behind trees and brush just outside Chapmanville, in Logan County, West Virginia. It is just up the hill from the old house my great grandma lived in. My great grandfather passed away in 1983, and she stayed in the house alone for about 4 years, until she became senile. She began wandering off, and she would call us and ask if we had seen my great grandfather, who had been dead for many years, and she would talk about dead people as if they were still alive. She was still in yester-year. We had to get people to sit with her around the clock for the last five years of her life. She died in 1998 at the age of 94.

I was about nine or ten years old when it happened. I was visiting my great grandmother when we saw a Cadillac hearse pull up the driveway, with about three cars behind it. This hearse was older looking, like one of those from the 60’s. They took out a casket and began carrying it up the hill behind my great grandmother’s house. Now this was strange because the cemetery was exclusively a family cemetery, we would have been notified if a family member had died, and for family to just go by Grandma’s house without saying anything would have been a sin.

Grandma was too old to walk up the hill, so she sent me up the hill to find out who had died. I walked up the hill, staying in the background until it was over. When it was finally over, I asked someone there who had died and they told me who it was. I wandered around the cemetery until everyone had gone, and when I went down the hill, I was astonished to see everyone had already left and nobody stayed to visit Grandma, like anyone who ever went near there did. I went in and told her who had died and she said it wasn’t anyone in the family. It was someone who lived up the hollow who wanted to be buried close by, and knew the family well, and my Grandma said she had promised them they could be buried up there. I don’t know why, but I forgot about the whole thing and even forgot to tell my folks about the funeral when they came to pick me up later. I remember going back up there for Memorial Day and a couple of funerals and noticing there was never a marker placed at that grave.

A few years later when my great grandmother died, a few of us stayed on the cemetery just looking around and such. My great uncle, who was in his 60’s, was there. I was asking him about the person who had been buried a few years earlier, the person who lived up the hollow, and why didn’t the family of that person put up some kind of marker. He didn’t know what I was talking about. I showed him the grave and what he told me made me turn white and my jaw hit the ground. The same grave was opened when he was a kid, a very long time ago. He said the man buried there was buried by the state. He had lived up the hollow and the state paid for his services and grave because he was poor. His family never put a marker there because he had no family. He had hung himself.

This story gets stranger still. I never told my uncle anything, nothing. I didn’t want to be considered crazy. My great grandmother and I saw a ghost funeral and I didn’t know it, and she was just re-living the past by seeing it. The weirdest part is that one of my cousins now lives in the old house by the cemetery. She called here one day asking who died because there was a small funeral taking place, up on the hill. I told her I didn’t know, I had not heard of anyone dying. I told her to go up there and see about it. Again, I didn’t think anything of the strange happening in the past. I went over there a week later and she showed me where they had buried the person and again my jaw hit the ground and I turned white. The grave was still fresh, like someone was just buried there a week before. I never told my cousin anything, nothing. I didn’t want to frighten her out of that house. This is a true story. I cannot explain it. If anyone told me this story I would not believe it. This really happened to me.

I was walking from my house to a friends one Thursday night just after dark, about 8:00 pm. The way I used to go was through the old cemetery on the hill in the West End. As I walked through I heard screaming coming from the Above ground cells. I kept walking and I saw a ghostly young women crying, and screaming for help. When she saw me run from her, she became angry, and screamed madly. I got home and never went through the cemetery again to this day.

Early this year my family and some friend stayed in an old refurbished home in Cass while we skied at Snowshoe. The first night there several people were awakened by the back doors slamming shut and opening and slamming again. Then they described a feeling like the house shaking and glass breaking.

The next morning one of our vehicles back window had been shattered. This couldn’t have caused the house to shake because the car was sitting down from the house by the road. That day one friend, my two daughters and myself stayed behind while everyone else went skiing. We were in the kitchen fixing snacks and we made sure both back doors were shut and locked. We then went into the living room and were talking. I got up to get a cup of coffee and when I went into the kitchen, both back doors were standing wide open.

That night my friend was awakened by a man standing over her bed trying to lift her. She said she could feel him shaking from trying to lift her. She yelled for her husband and then the man was gone.