Back in 1972 they were building the new corridor G. from Chapmanville to Charleston.

Me and my boyfriend (husband now of 29 yrs), were out driving on the new section to be paved. We drove about 5 miles of Chapmanville. Our car broke down. It stopped in the middle of no where. We watched for hours for another car to drive by but we didn’t see anybody. As we sat there in the middle of night talking and wondering what our parents were thinking. We knew they wouldn’t know which way to even look for us. I knew I was in some terrible trouble, if I didn’t freeze to death. It was late in the fall and thanks to my boyfriend we did have extra coats and a army blanket.

We started seeing a flame in the ditch line. It was like a hundred feet to the left of the car. My boyfriend said you set here and I will go check it out. He got out of the car and walked toward the flame. I sat in the front seat watching. When he got within 10 feet of it the flame disappeared. He turned around in the dark and walked back to the car. He said humm it went out. He said he thought it was a gas leak and someone might of thrown a cigarette on it.

Just as soon as he sat down and shut the door it came right back. Several times he walked up to it and it would flicker out. He was frightened but, tried not to show it. Finally I dared him to get out and leave me again. I said whatever it is it does not want us to bother it. We sat there till daylight. A work truck coming on the road to work stopped and helped us. He said what seems to be the trouble. My boyfriend said I don’t know the car just quit. We have been here all night. He gave us a jump and the car started. We had the battery checked out later and it was a new battery. It never did do that again.

My father was waiting and after we explained he only jumped on us for not telling them which way we were going. He was too understanding. We told him about the flickering flame. He said can we go back and look for it? In a hundred years I spoke up.. I said I’ve never been so scared. We never did go back and we have passed that place so many times but, we cannot to this day say exactly where we were. Its like something made us both forget the place.

After a day of indecision and snow squalls, my sister and I decided we would make the 84-odd-mile trek from Williamson, West Virginia to Huntington, West Virginia to arrange our summer schedules at Marshall University.

We had planned this trip for weeks. The earlier you get registered, the more insured you are to get the classes and schedule you want and need.

Lynn was working on her masters. I on the other hand, after 10 years, three colleges and beauty school would be attending undergraduate classes majoring in elementary education.

Usually excited about snow, we both were disappointed when periodically throughout the day snow squalls passed through the area covering roadways.

Lynn had to teach and would not be leaving until later in the afternoon, so we had hope the snow would pass through and we would be able to make the trip.

It had not snowed for a while when Lynn returned home from work and we opted to go ahead and attempt to get to Huntington. If it got to bad, we would turn around.

But being us, we did not get on the road as early as we should have and the sun was setting as we left the house.

From Williamson to Huntington you follow the Tug Fork River to the Big Sandy along US Route 52 passing through once booming coal communities with only echoes visible of their past prosperity.

US 52 has quite a haunting history of death. If you have lived anywhere along the route for any length of time you know at least one person who has met his or her maker on that road.

Well, as I was saying, you pass through small communities that could simply be classified as “wide spots.” Some bearing the name and number of the mine which brought the community into being, such as Borderland 1 and Borderland 2 and other with names like Nolan, Millers Creek, Maher and Naugatuck and Kermit.

From Williamson to Kermit in 1988 it took about 30 to 45-minutes to drive the 15 to 20-miles. Along the route you passed through the two Borderlands, then Nolan, Millers Creek and Maher.

As Lynn and I passed through these communities we discussed the day, what we were going to do in Huntington, what we were going to eat, and whether we were going to be able to get there at all.

We had just passed by Millers Creek and were zipping down one of the few straight stretches along 52 before entering into the Maher curve. A huge curve arched like a horseshoe with the biggest community cemetery in Mingo County, West Virginia following the north bound lane from the road’s edge to the Tug River. Our grandmother is buried there, as are many friends and relatives.

Coming down the straight stretch Lynn asked, “Did you think we were going be able to make this trip?”

I believe I said, “Yes, I knew we would try anyway.”

The subject changed by the time we entered into the curve. It change to, “Where did this snow come from?”

It was pouring. By the time we reached the section where our grandmother is buried, the road was snow covered.

We discussed whether we should turn around, but opted to continue with hopes we’d drive through the snow shower.

Oh, how wrong we were.

As the snow peppered down, the road began to worsen and was treacherous by the time we reached Naugatuck.

After crossing the two sets of railroad tracks in Naugatuck, we turned toward Kermit. It wasn’t long after we crossed those tracks we decided we had to turn around. The snow was blinding leaving visibility almost nil.

We knew there was nowhere to turn around along this road, another straight stretch with the railroad on one side and mountains on the other.

Traveling only a short distance from the point of our decision to turn around, we saw what appeared to be two stone columns marking an entrance to a driveway.

Seizing the opportunity to turn around, we pulled into the driveway, which appeared to lead straight into the mountainside. Cautiously and quickly we backed back onto the highway to return home.

Now heading south on 52, we once again passed the snow-covered cemetery at Maher, but by the time we reached Nolan the road was clear with only flurries of snow flying about the night sky. The closer we got to home the signs of the sever weather we had experienced became less and less visible to when we reached our mother’s driveway there was not a trace of snow.

We ran in told our mother we were home and I went home to my apartment surprising my fiance.

Sometime in the wee hours of morning, my phone began to ring. It was my mother. Her dad had passed away. He was buried next to our grandmother at Maher.

Lynn and I discussed the trials we had in trying to get to Huntington and how someone must have been telling us not to go. However, that’s not were this story ends.

Several years later Lynn and I were traveling to Huntington, a trek I had made almost every weekend while attending Marshall University and she had made to visit. As we passed Maher we began talking about the night Pop Paw died. How strange it had been that night, it was as if someone was telling us to go home.

When we came upon the second set of tracks at Naugatuck, Lynn said, “Sonya can you find the place where we turned around.”

“I have driven this road over a hundred times since that night. I have looked for the driveway where we turned around and I cannot find it,” I replied.

“Neither can I.”

We couldn’t find it that day either, nor have we since.

I used to be a very religious person and attended church regularly. I had just gotten married, about two months previously, when a lot of things went wrong in my life and one day, I just gave up and quit going.

My husband went to work real early in the morning, around 5:00 AM. Sometimes he would come back home, because one of the trucks wouldn’t start. He would always tell me when he came back home. I was a real heavy sleeper, and very hard to wake up. He would always shake me and tell me that he was home. I was always half asleep and would say, “ok” and go right back to sleep.

One morning he came back home from work, one of the trucks wouldn’t start again, and we went through the same routine. Two days passed and something woke me up again. It shook me and said, “Honey, I’m home.” Being half asleep, I said ok and started to go back asleep. It shook me a little harder and again said, “Honey, I’m home.” Well, I started to get mad because I thought that it was my husband playing around with me and I wanted to go back asleep. Then it started laughing and I knew it wasn’t my husband. Its voice was much deeper then my husband’s. I was scared to death and too frozen to move. Something kept telling me not to turn around and look at it. So I kept my back toward it and didn’t move. I just keep on saying over and over in my mind “Jesus, help me.”

I was so scared that I really didn’t pay much mind of what it was telling me, but it sounded like it was making fun of God. It sounded like it was saying, “Bless her dumb ass! Bless her!” I really didn’t know what it meant by saying that. It finally stopped, but I still didn’t turn over, because I was afraid that it was still there. Something told me to get up and turn the light on, and it would leave me alone. So I got up and hurried to turn the light on. I couldn’t go back to sleep after that, but whatever it was, it didn’t come back that morning either. In fact, it has never come back since.

I told my parents about it that day, but they didn’t believe me. I also told my husband about it and he thought it was funny. I got mad and told him that I hoped it happened to him, then he would see how funny it was.

I believe the reason it happened was because God was trying to show me that I still needed him and that I better start going back to church. Now I’m a big believer in God and the Devil. I swear it really happened to me, why would I lie about something like that!

First off I would like to say that this story is true and that I wouldn’t waste my time putting it on here if it were not. This encounter took place at Pumpkin Ridge in Clay County, which is in Procious. Me and a few of my friends were staying at my friend T.J’s house and we were up late watching movies. I would say around one o’clock in the morning we heard a car pull up in the drive way. Now if you knew where his mom lived you would know why that is so strange considering she lives five minutes from the main road and there are nobody around for miles.

We heard a car door open and shut, but when we looked out the window there were no cars in sight. We even walked out the drive way to see if anyone was prowling around, but there was no one, the drive way is the only road that leads to the house. Since no one was around, we went back to watching our movie.

Around 1:30 am we hear the same car pull up and the same door shut. We start getting a little paranoid considering there are no head lights or cars in sight. We all start getting a little shaky when all of a sudden something bashes into the front door, enough to make it almost come flying off it’s hinges.

My friend T.J grabs a baseball bat and we walk out to see what it was. Our first thought was that some psycho was trying to get in the house, or that someone was messing with us. We walked all the way around the house, and made his mom drive all the way down the driveway to see if there were any cars, but there was no signs of cars or people around at all. There is a grave yard about 100 feet from the house, but to say that it had anything to do with it would be far fetched. To this day we still don’t know what bashed into the door that late July night.

Recently, a friend of mine came in to visit from out-of-state. We were surfing the net trying to find some fun things to do around here when we came upon this site. Since neither of us really had any stories of our own to tell, we decided to go in search of some.

We gathered up a camera and some film and set out on our expedition. We visited a few places that were said to be haunted and took some pics, but by midnight we had yet to see anything out of the ordinary.

A stop at the local Citgo for a fill-up lucked us into running into a friend of ours, who is known to us for her own interest in ghosts and their stories. We got on the subject of a local Urban Legend here about “The Ghost at the Swimming Hole Bridge”.

None of us knew for sure the story behind this ghost. But, it is said, that if you park on the bridge after dark, turn off the engine, and sit in complete silence, you will hear/see (we weren’t really sure) the ghost of an Indian warrior.

In a few moments time, we were heading in the direction of the bridge, which happens to be about 5-10 miles back in the woods. Throughout the night I had successfully wandered through cemeteries and stood before “haunted” houses without freaking out. But as we got closer to the bridge that little voice in my head kept telling me to turn back. My friend, however, couldn’t wait to get there, and so I drove on.

Finally, we reached our destination. I parked the car and turned off the engine and lights. From my window I could clearly see the swimming hole that was illuminated by the light in the parking lot of a nearby church. From the window of my friend however, the view was pitch black.

After waiting in the silence for a few minutes, my friend suddenly let out a loud “Whoo”, sounding very much like an Indian to me, and provoking a sound punch in the arm. My friend then took a few pics out of his window and we were just getting ready to leave when I shared a thought I just had. Somewhere before I had heard that some didn’t like to have their picture taken because they believed that it captured their soul. Then something happened.

At that moment I wasn’t sure what that something was. At first I thought the car had died, then I remembered the engine was already killed. I turned the key and punched the gas, the car sprang to life, and we sped onto the dirt road heading deeper into the forest. My friend finally convinced me to turn around and as we shot back over the bridge we realized the something that had happened had been the light at the church going out. We laughed nervously at ourselves, headed for a few other “haunts”, took some pics, and called it a night.

Now, this may seem like the boring end to this story (and as long as it has been, you’re probably hoping so). But I haven’t told you about the pictures. We got back some weird stuff from some of the cemeteries and houses, but the weirdest of all was the one picture that we got back from the bridge. In the picture you can see the outline of some trees, the reflection of the flash on the water, and something else. Something was hovering just outside of my friend’s window, which was a bright globe of green light. And as for the pictures we took after the bridge, I wouldn’t know. They never came out!

My roommate, another friend, and I had a strange encounter about two years ago that recently came together for me about a week ago. I’m not exactly a skeptic when it comes to Ouija boards and had experimented a few times before, but after that night and a conversation I had recently, I assure you I will never play with one again. On a cold dreary night in Morgantown WV, we decided to try out my friend’s Ouija board in his fraternity house. He had told us of several occasions where he had spoken with an older woman using the Ouija board.

After a few questions and not much happening, I reluctantly agreed to go with them and the board to a local cemetery. We soon found ourselves setting on the stairs of a Mausoleum. We began asking the routine questions and some strange answers began coming back, things about an indoor pool and a house behind a restaurant. During the course of this, I became extremely hot and it was only about 25 degrees outside. I began to sweat and feel as if I were going to pass out. About that time, the board spelled out “Just breathe.” I began to breathe deeply and the feeling began to pass. At that point in time I decided it was time to leave. I stood up and the pointer spelled out one last message. “Look for the light.” We looked up and about that time there was a flash that looked like a flame about ten feet away from us. Needless to say, we left the cemetery in quite a hurry.

I never knew who the spirit was that we were talking to but we did know that it was whomever was in the mausoleum. Come to find out in a conversation with a friend’s father that had grown up in Morgantown, the person in the mausoleum was a doctor in Morgantown at the turn of the century. He was also one of the richest men in the town at the time and his home was a huge house that sat behind what is now “The Flame” restaurant. They also had an indoor pool. I’m also convinced that he sensed my “spell” and gave me the cure for it.

This is a short, second hand account about my grandfather. The way I was told is that my grandfather, Benjamin Green had healing powers. He was the seventh son of the seventh son, and in the bible, it’s said that these individuals can say a certain verse out of the bible and lay hands on the sick and heal them.

I remember both my grandmother and my mother telling me stories of how people would come from miles around just to see him. They would bring there sick children themselves or just come to have him pray for them or someone they knew.

I remember one particular story of a woman who had a child that was deathly sick. The mother had come many miles to see him because she heard that he could help her sick child. My grandfather took the child, held it, said a verse out of the bible, blew in the child’s mouth and almost instantly it began to improve. No one ever knew what the verse was he said and he never told anyone. The secret went with him to grave.

In the late 1940’s and early 1950’s, I attended the Garfield School in Parkersburg, West Virginia. One of my classmates was a big boy named Oliver. He was a very quiet boy. I remember every time I saw him enter or leave the classroom, there was a circle of pale, yellow light around his head. As a mere child of seven or so, I never thought this was unusual, just pretty.

In those days, it was common for students to walk home for lunch. One early, warm, spring day, I returned from lunch and noticed our class was very quiet. Our teacher said, “Class, please give me your attention, I have something very important to tell you.” In a very somber voice she said, “One of your classmates will not be returning today or ever.” She went on to explain that Oliver had been hit by a car while he crossed the street on his way home for lunch. He had died a short time later.

Then she asked each of us to stand and tell the class what we liked about Oliver. When it was my turn, I said, “I liked the pretty lights.” The other kids laughed and I cried. My teacher was a kind woman and she only smiled at me. I have thought about that incident over fifty years ago and I truly believe she saw Oliver’s Halo, too.