Difference between revisions of "Ghost Stories"

Revision as of 09:48, 31 October 2016

The South Pittsburgh Reporter Story

In this Halloween greeting card from 1904, divination is depicted: the young woman looking into a mirror in a darkened room hopes to catch a glimpse of the face of her future husband.

As we slowly, ever so slowly, creep toward the ghostly All Hallows' Eve in the historic neighborhoods of Carrick and Overbrook, we gaze upon the dozens of cemeteries of Carrick and Overbrook looking for that errant spirit. Halloween is that special day we set aside for the apparitions and souls who maintain their existence on this earth and pray for them on the following day, All Saints Day. The old Concord Presbyterian Cemetery dates to back to 1813 and there are numerous unintelligible and unnamed and unmarked graves there. In 1904 the South Side Cemetery was described as "romantic," not ghostly, but I doubt if many of us would want to take a midnight leisurely stroll about the markers. Do you think there are ghosts haunting these hallowed grounds? How many miners have been lost in the numerous caverns under our homes; do they come out on All Hallows' Eve? Do Indians still hauntingly hunt deer in our woods? Have you seen them? Are you sure?

Do you have a Carrick or Overbrook story about the goblin that haunts your neighborhood, one of our dozen cemeteries, or even that one mysteriously knock in the night above your bed in your attic or closet every night at that one particular hour? Have you seen John M. Phillips, our most illustrious citizen, walking the grounds of his former homestead, Impton, at St. Pius Church or in his beloved Phillips Park. Does the industrialist Milton Hays, Overbrook's most distinguished citizen, run his train and blow its whistle late at night past your home making that midnight run toward Castle Shannon. Have you heard vaudeville music, boxing matches or the roller coasters in Phillips Park? Did you see "Jumbo," the 1920's motorcycle cop, chasing prohibition drinkers in the woods?

Would you would like to share it with your neighbors? Now is your chance to author and share that story about "your" ghost. Send your stories to this site or to carrickhistory@gmail.com and we will share them with you and include them on our website for future generations of electronic ghosts and goblins to see, since we know many of them actually inhabit most of our electronic equipment.

Trick or Treat!

John Rudiak

Lilly, the Little Lost Girl of Carrick

Written by John Rudiak as told by Julia Tomasic

Rosalind was one of my best friends who visited my home in Carrick. Her little girl Lilly, as she called her, was her constant companion, but she couldn’t be seen by us grownups. We were too old to believe in earthbound spirits and that made us blind to little Lilly.

Rosalind’s presence in the salon would always bring unexplained events. On one occasion, when my son was young, he walked into the basement room wearing nothing but his little shirt, and no diaper. I suspected the diaper simply fell off – or as young children are apt to do, he removed it. Strangely, the wet soiled diaper was found on the third floor, folded and taped ready for the trash bin. Rosalind had already gone for the day and we were alone.

Finally, one day Rosalind told me her secret. She said she had once visited a psychic who told her she had a little spirit friend, Lilly, who was a lost little girl and she was her constant companion. Lilly was a playful spirit always looking for a new friend and was always happy to go outside with her everywhere. This begged the question: did Lilly change my son’s diaper? Did he see her to allow her to do so? My young son never understood that adults were unable to see spirits – in fact as a youngster he often had “conversations” with my uncle who died in 1994, 8 years before he was born and who he never knew.

Sometimes spirits make their presence known to the earthbound bodies in the physical world. We do not have little girls in our house. However, one day when Rosalind was at the salon, she, my son and I heard a little girl’s voice clearly speak “hello!” The words were loud and crisp, and hung in the air. We all looked at ourselves and said “hello” in unison. My son was smiling and gazing into the distance as if knowing Lilly was indeed speaking to him, and wanted to make friends. From that day on, my son and I would always look forward to Rosalind’s visit, but only my son could actually see and play with Lilly.

Rosalind told me other secrets. On day, she had lost her very special diamond rings, and she was frantic. She knew they were in the house because while doing chores, she took them off, and placed them safely into a cup in the basement. She was alone in the house all day, so she knew no one would take them from this obscure location. When she returned to retrieve them, the cup was empty. She horridly tore the house apart, searching tirelessly and endlessly for months. No rings were found. How could a very large diamond ring and wedding band go missing? Out of shear desperation she returned to her psychic friend.

The psychic told her she would find her precious rings someday, and they were neatly wrapped and safe in something red. She said Lilly was responsible since she liked to play impish games with objects. However, Lilly apologized for putting Rosalind through so much worry, and the rings were safe and sound.

Two years later, Rosalind’s mother, Abigail, was visiting overnight, and needed fresh towels and linens. She went into the guest room to search and opened a rarely used secretary desk. Surprisingly, she found a beautiful hat box. Never seeing such a wonderful old box she opened it and inside was only a gorgeous red satin scarf. As she picked it up to admire it, the scarf opened up only to drop the lost rings into her lap! Lilly’s secret hiding place was found.

Rosalind moved away a few years ago and I never found out if Lilly, her lost little girl, moved along with her. I wonder if the new owners of her house are Lilly’s new parents or if she will always be her adopted mother, going everywhere with her, maybe meeting each other, finally, in heaven.

"Rags a Diana, Rags a Diana"

by Diana Cipollone

When I was a little girl, my grandparents lived with us. My granddaddy, whom I loved dearly wanted to make sure I would stay a good girl. He would say to me that the ragman was coming down the street (with his horse and buggy) and he was yelling out, “Rags a Diana” “Rags a Diana”.

Of course he was wrong, he was yelling something else, (I can’t remember what) but I believed my wonderful granddaddy. To this day, in my dreams and in my thoughts about my granddaddy, I can still hear the ragman with his horses, crying out “Rags a Diana”.

Sometimes at night I hear the words "Rags a Diana, Rags a Diana" in my granddaddy's voice telling me to be a good girl.

I turned out to be a good girl.

October 31, 2016

Title: The Thing That Growls

Time: 1989

By Jill Flosnik

    The smell of popcorn and funnel cake loomed thick like fog.  Carnival music was everywhere and way too loud.  It was crowded.  Everybody in the world came out that night.  I lost at Bingo again, and I was disappointed.  Why did I not win like I fully expected?    Finally, a friend’s face emerged from the sea of blue snow cone stained faces and I was never so glad.  He was every bit as sick of the carnival as me.  Some people say that you should never stay too long at the fair and they are right.  They are so very right.
   “Let’s go sit down.”	 
    “OK.”
    We separated from the crowd and sat down on the church graveyard wall, our hands holding onto the wrought iron bars of the fence and feet dangling below.  All sound from the carnival drowned out.  For a while, it was peaceful.  Still.  Quiet.  The sun was setting and making the Carrick graveyard into a shady and colorful design that would inspire an artist to paint.  Nowadays, people would snap this picture with their cell phones, post it on the internet and save it in the cloud forever.  Back then, we just had our memories.  We talked and talked.  It got dark.
    Then we heard it.  It was a sickening, ungodly growl.  It was our imaginations, for sure.  He heard it, too.  I could tell.  I watched him, just like me, decide to dismiss the sound.  We paused for a second, then kept talking.  We weren’t ready to stop talking.  We did not want our peaceful time on the St. Wendelin’s church graveyard wall to end. 
“There is no way that you can stay in Pittsburgh anymore.”

“Yes.” I agreed. “There are no jobs.”

    And then we heard it again, this time louder to the point of shaking the earth. The sound was more animal than human, but unlike anything we ever heard before or since.  We looked right at each other, and again.  Another growl.  We jumped up fast as our blood froze cold in terror.  It felt like we were being hunted.  We ran.  And we ran.  We ran faster than we ever did in the history of our lives.   We ran out of the church parking lot, down Custer Avenue, down Edward drive to the Clover Streets in Baldwin where we grew up.  And keep in mind, we were not the running sort.  We weren’t athletic.  We were the weird, creative kids.  Never, have I ever, run just to run, nor has he.
    We never spoke of this again.  This was not usual, and dare I say, completely out of character for the talking sort.  Instead, we kept quiet.  We were endlessly relieved to have escaped that growl, whatever it was, whoever it was.  It felt like we escaped certain death.
    Over the years, I have tried to convince myself that this never happened, that it was imagination.  If I looked up my childhood friend, he would say he does not remember.  He would say that it was just a dream, but I doubt it.  
    Another childhood friend, a dependable smart girl who grew up by the cemetery, used to see bony fingers outside her window until she asked her mother for black out curtains.  Was this the thing that growls?  Still another classmate, a sweet, athletic guy who makes you feel safe, used to be afraid to walk across the graveyard at night.  Why?  Had he seen or heard the thing that growls?  In any case, I have never forgotten that night or that unearthly growl, and I never, ever will.