>> Thursday, October 05, 2006
her by name: Clare.
She has inspired a children's book and a theater show, though no one really knows her tale. Psychics say she is a frustrated actress, wife of a dead theater hand.
She occasionally appears in a favored balcony seat or stands before a flapper-era gilt mirror, brushing hair no breeze can stir. A psychic once described her as "Nice, but a little snooty." Stagehands say they've seen a spectral woman stand, turn, disappear. Others have been called by name: "Mark, when are you leaving?" "Phil, what are you doing?" An
eerie blue light warms banisters and seats. An upstairs corridor is always cold.
A ghostly electrician has been spotted backstage. The Walnut Room is said to be
crowded with spirits - flashlights go dead there - while the Red Room is the color of blood for a reason. But then, what would you expect of a place with catacombs?"
death for an upcoming landmark event. You can see the video here. The next seven haunted places came from this article.
A young couple just married were riding along Cedarvale Road headed for Marcellus. They never made it through a snaky section called the 13 Curves. It's only about a mile of road in a place some call Pumpkin Valley and others call Pleasant Valley. All agree the curves can be treacherous. The couple may have been in a coach, or in a '30s roadster, or on a motorcycle. Whatever they were riding, it didn't make it around one curve. It doesn't matter which one - it was their last. They crashed and were thrown apart. Each died alone.
It's the woman who can't seem to leave the road behind. From time to time, usually around a Friday the 13th or Halloween night, she is caught in a car's headlights or glimpsed in a rear-view mirror. She wears white, her eyes glow, and she sometimes floats above the asphalt. She appears to be looking for someone ...
A neighbor had once lived in the house. Yes, she said, there is something there: One night while her husband was at work and her kids were asleep, she heard footsteps in the cellar. They came up the stairs. She was petrified. They came toward her bedroom. They stopped, turned, and went into the dining room. She heard footsteps going around and around the dining room table: clomp, clomp, clomp. She never saw a thing. When her husband came home, they stood in the dining room. It was deadly cold."
One night, a firefighter was in bed. He heard steps and looked up. He saw a figure at the top of the stairs. The firefighter got up and started toward it. Gone. He called out to the only other firefighter in the station. He was asleep, downstairs. The firefighter went back to bed. He looked up, and saw the figure at the top of the stairs.
No one hears the footsteps anymore: The firehouse is now a senior citizens center at West Seneca Turnpike and Midland Avenue.
Some heard footsteps when no one was about. Others heard music when none should have played, saw lights pop on when no hand touched a switch. Cats were jumpy, and slept under beds. There was a dirt floor and snakes in the basement.
There was the shadow, which commanders and their wives saw pass from den to living room, or move silently up the stairs.
One colonel saw it clearer than most: It was a man, wearing a long, caped Inverness coat. He had long gray hair and made wood floors creak.
The Air Force moved out in 1984. The city of Syracuse owns the house. Those who rent it prefer not to talk - or hear - about gray ghosts in Inverness coats. Or snakes in the basement.
Many longtime residents of the Oswego County hamlet say they've never seen it, but know people who have. Most have heard about the woman and the little girl. They've been seen running, barefoot and terror stricken, along the hills beside Route 481 since before Route 481 ran there.
Some say the woman wears a bonnet, or carries a basket. Others say both she and the little girl run barefoot. But all put them running scared. Most see what they see within a square formed by Routes 57, 481 and 45, and Dutch Ridge Road. A disparate group of people, many quite reasonable, has seen something running at Seneca Hill for more than 50 years. One woman stopped her car, ran after the woman, but lost her on a hill. A psychic has called it the Seneca Hill Manifestation. It tends to manifest itself at Halloween or in early November. Some have seen the woman running in mid-July. No one, not even the psychic, knows what she runs from. Or to.
An enlightening video on this ghost(s) at Split Rock is below. It also talks about a Ghost at Belhurst Castle on Seneca Lake in the Fingerlakes:
When Sydney and Helen Fairchild lived at Willowbank on the shore of Cazenovia Lake, Mrs. Fairchild liked tea with her needlework. A loyal servant we'll call Nellie always made sure Mrs. F got her tea on time. Nellie was so prompt, so loyal, even the grave couldn't keep her. For years after Nellie's death, Helen Fairchild would hear the clink of china and rattle of the tray on the stairs. She would feel a cold hand on her shoulder, an affectionate gesture of Nellie's. It didn't matter that Nellie was dead. She was still punctual.
Bonnie Bradstreet, who with her husband, Roger, has owned the house 17 years and run it as a bed and breakfast for four, said neither she and her husband nor their three grown children ever encountered Nellie.
"No one in this family has even had an inkling of this woman still being with us," she said. "I wish she was. I could use the help."
Charles and Helen Fairchild, relatives of Sydney and Helen, built a mansion just down the road. It is now the Lorenzo State Historic Site. For a time, a descendant, George Ledyard, lived in a guest house on the grounds, South Cottage. His wife, Annie, died there. Some years later, South Cottage was loaned to family friends, rent free, as a wedding gift. But a prior resident apparently didn't approve of the contract, and let the couple know.
"Locked doors flying open, books flying off tables, spectral figures sitting in chairs - the usual sorts of things," says site manager Russ Grills. "It culminated in a figure sitting in a rocking chair by the fire, smoking. Which made everyone decide it wasn't Annie after all." Annie never smoked; the ghost puffed a pipe.
The newlyweds moved out 30 years ago, and the Ledyard family gave the property to the state. South Cottage, gutted and rebuilt, is an office. No one's heard from the ghost since the renovation.