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Good evening, it’s Spooky Boo coming to you from the lighthouse in Sandcastle, California. Tonight I have for you spooky, creepy ghost stories about barns. Have you ever seen a ghost in a barn? I bet the old barn owls have tales to tell about haunted barns and ghosts that roam the stalls. Here in Sandcastle we have many ghosts in barns from old farmers, workers, and even victims from big bullies and crimes. Those tales will soon be told but for tonight, I will tell you some old barn stories from urban legends and the internet.
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Now let’s begin…
The Seventh Barn
An urban legend sent anonymously to spookyboo@scarystorytime.com
There was a wealthy farmer who owned quite a bit of land in Ohio. Every time his wife had a baby, he would build a new barn and name the barn after the new baby. At one point, 6 babies had been born and 6 barns built. During childbirth of the 7th baby, his wife and the baby died in childbirth leaving the farmer very depressed with one last barn to fill. He was so filled with grief that his farm went unattended and lost money.
The rumor is that one night, in the depths of his madness and despair, the farmer took grabbed an axe and led his children out to the barns where he murdered them, one by one in each of the barns named after them. He buried each body in the six barns that had been named after them. Then, the farmer went to the 7th barn where he hung himself.
As time went on, all of the barns were eventually torn down and most of the land was sold off all except for the 7th barn. Nobody wanted to buy the land because of what had happened on the tainted land. It soon fell into disrepair as it was abandoned with no upkeep.
We’ve heard that if you go to that barn at night you can see the ghost of the farmer hanging from the rafters, his body swinging back and forth in the wind, dwelling on his terrible crime for all eternity.
No one was ever really sure where the seventh barn was located, although it was definitely in Ohio. Some said it was the Cranz farm in Cuyahoga Valley and others said it was at Top O’ The World in Northampton.
In 1997, a local Ohio teacher claimed that, after a lot of research, he had finally managed to track down the actual location of the infamous 7th Barn. He said that none of the barns had ever actually been torn down. The land had just been divided up and sold off and the barns had simply been incorporated into neighboring farms. According to the teacher, he was able to pinpoint the correct location because all of the barns on neighboring properties had nameplates above their doors with the names of children engraved on them.
The teacher and his son set out at night to visit the barn, bringing a video camera with them, in the hopes of capturing some paranormal activity.
The next morning, the teacher’s wife reported her husband and son missing. Police found their abandoned car by the roadside. While searching the area, they entered a barn in a nearby field and found the dead bodies of the teacher and his son hanging from the rafters.
The Old Scarecrow
Sent anonymously to spookyboo@scarystorytime.com
My friend Joe and I used to live next door to each other on our family farms back in Wisconsin. When I say next door, I really mean about a mile to two miles apart. It didn’t matter how far apart our houses were because the school bus would drop us off at either house because our parents said it was ok. His place was more of a cow dairy farm. We didn’t have any cows, just land that my mom inherited after her gramps died. We let Joe’s dad put his corn and clover hay crops on our land and he would give us a steer every year to eat. It worked out well.
One year my friend and I were out back shooting old corn husks at birds with a slingshot. None of them could ever reach the birds so we figured it was fun pretending. To our horror, one actually hit one of the crows who was coming closer to see what we were doing. We didn’t know it would do that and it is something I’ve regretted for a long time. Dad always taught me that there should be a reason to kill an animal if we needed food or clothing so I felt really bad. We buried it in the backyard. I told him about the crow and I got my butt whooped something big.
The next day there were crows all over the corn crops tearing at our new harvest but when we went outside they would all fly away and come back when we went back inside. Dad told me I had to build a scarecrow so the birds would think a human was there and fly away. I grabbed some old overalls from grandpa’s closet along with boots and a red and black wool checkered shirt. We stuffed the clothes with hay and built a big cross with two pieces of wood to hang him on. Mom was upset about the cross part because she thought it mocked Jesus but Dad didn’t think so. Before hanging the old guy up on the cross in the field, I stuffed a crow feather from the crow we accidentally killed. We must have missed it when we buried him but the feather sat there as plain as day near its grave.
The first day the crows didn’t come back but that night I swear I heard something stomping around in the yard. When I looked outside there was no one there but I couldn’t see the scarecrow due to the rain. The next day with the sun shining, he was hanging there just fine. Then the next night I heard the same thing. I looked out the window and the scarecrow was gone. I ran outside yelling “dad! dad!” but he didn’t wake up. I didn’t see the scarecrow anywhere. The next day there he was, sitting on the cross again. I told dad about it and he just said it was probably a dream.
The next night around 3 am I heard footsteps on the porch and knocking at the door. I wasn’t about to answer it but I heard dad get up and the door open. Then there was a loud thud and nothing. Mom and I ran downstairs and had to call an ambulance for dad but he had died from a heart attack before the ambulance ever got there. The scarecrow was hanging there on the cross.
Mom let Joe spend the night because we were all so sad and said I should have a friend over. She made us popcorn and bought movies but I wasn’t in the mood. We just sat in my room telling stories about our dads until it was time for bed. I had bunk beds so Joe slept on the top bunk and I was on the bottom. That night he heard the same stomping outside and we both took off outside. Before us stood the scarecrow. Its face was no longer the old burlap sack we stuffed with hay–it was a human face with black feathers and beady black crows eyes. It’s mouth and nose were the black beak. We went running back inside the house screaming. Mom told us we had to take apart the scarecrow the next day. We did but sometimes at night, we still hear the stomping.
What I Heard in the Barn
Anonymous Creepypasta
In the woods behind my house stood an old worn-down barn. Most of the paint had chipped off, and the wood that held up the silo was rotted and busted, with holes everywhere. The people in town always used to say that the barn was haunted, but I never believed any of those old ghost stories. Me and my buddies talked about it a lot whenever we hung out, so after a few weeks of thought, I decided to check the place out, just out of curiosity.
It was a rather damp Friday morning when I first set out for the old barn. Through the remnants of the previous night’s thunderstorm, I trotted down the cleared dirt path leading to the old barn. The door wasn’t locked, but it was still halted by a thicket of brambles and vines, so I walked around until I found a small opening in the side at about eye level. Apparently someone tried to tear down the barn, but they didn’t do a very good job, and I’m pretty sure they quit after the first twelve seconds. I shoved my hand through the opening, pulled a chunk off the board, and kicked, slammed against, and yanked on the old wood until I had enough of an opening for me to climb through. The inside of the barn was astounding. It was in pristine condition, despite being here for at least a hundred years. Old horse-drawn machinery stood rusted on the dirt floor. A tractor stood solemnly in the back of the barn, rusted and rendered silent by the tides of time. Hay bales stood stacked up in an almost perfect staircase, some of it still golden, untouched by the wind and weather. It was a sight to see. So for the next week, I brought all of my friends to see it, and we talked about it for weeks.
One Thursday my friend Max approached me in the hallway inbetween periods. “Mark,” he started, “that barn’s been there for a hundred something years. Have you ever entertained the thought that it just might be haunted? Just once?”
“It’s not haunted,” I told him
“And if you’re wrong? Then what?” he demanded.
“It’s not haunted! For crying out loud, Max, the barn’s not frickin’ haunted!” I silently scolded him. He gave me a yeah, right look and walked away. But he had me thinking.
I asked around that night. According to the old folks in the town, if you sat in the barn in the midnight hour, you could hear everything that took place in that barn. The next night, I set out with nothing but what I could fit in a pack and made the trek down at about 11:30 that night. I stepped into the barn, made myself a little fire to give me some warmth and sight, and settled in.
At about midnight, I woke up after dozing off to hear the sound of giggling and footsteps. I did a double take, looking for the door to open, but it stayed shut. But I could hear footsteps rustling atop the hay pile. I just stayed in my chair, hoping to catch what was said, but all I heard was the faint sounds of giggling and the echoes of kissing lovers. I sat there in the darkness for almost a half hour, until I heard another sound. It was a gun being chambered. I heard a young man’s voice beg for mercy. “No…no…no,no,no,No,NO!” he cried. His girlfriend pleaded with what I gathered to be her father. “Daddy no!” she pleaded. Suddenly, I heard a gunshot go off. I covered my head with my hands in fear. I heard a faint feminine squeal. Then another gunshot went off. There was a rustling, then a loud slam, like something had fallen on wood. The last sound I heard was the fading footsteps of a man running away from what he had done. My mind was racing as I dozed off again…
I woke up abruptly to the muffled sounds of an angry crowd. They grew louder and louder. I heard the sounds of heavy breathing, and the crowd getting louder and louder. I couldn’t quite hear everything, but I heard what I assumed to be the father’s voice defending himself, calling the mob a bunch of crazy SOBs, cursing the boy, blaming his daughter’s death on the boy, but the crowd only got louder. I heard the father scream. “Get your hands off me!” he cried. But the crowd only got louder. “What are you doing? What the HELL are you doing? NO!!” The man’s cries stopped. I heard a pounding against the wall of the barn, but the voices remained silent. Then the footsteps faded away. All I could hear was a strange almost inaudible sound now and then, but after a while, it stopped. I crept up to the door, opening up a crack just big enough for me to see through. Nothing. I bent down and pulled at the vines under the door until I could get enough free to open up the door. I heard nothing except for the chirping of crickets and the single hoot of an owl. I saw something on the ground. I picked it up. It was an old tattered piece of a leather vest. As I stood up, I noticed something move out of my peripherals. I turned.
In front of me, at the end of an old rotted rope, was a single perfectly tied hanging noose.
Kirby Road
Anonymous Creepypasta
For many years I have heard about the infamous Kirby Road in Vaughn, Ontario but it wasn’t till recently that I finally was able to look into it. I was driving to a pre-wedding party for my cousin at her groom-to-be’s house, and noticed that the road his house was on, Stephanie Blvd, was right off of this Kirby Road I had heard murmurs of before.
Supposedly, this road often fools with your radio, your car will not start and all sorts of things that lead people to believe it was haunted. When I researched this, I found this wonderful blog, which I owe a great deal of credit to for my further discoveries, as she was able to explain some of the legends surrounding this road, and the supposedly two haunted houses there, as well as the solitary tombstone of a teenage girl located on the road. I’ll be focusing on one aspect of the haunted Kirby Road on this blog:
“There [are] three stories concerning these houses. The first house is reported to have a reputation of crying babies and laughing children that are not there, and a tombstone with the words “Selina, I was a cute child,” written upon it nearby the house. It is also reputed that if you park your vehicle on the driveway and sit quietly, the little girl, “Selina”, will run around your vehicle, all the while tapping on it here and there.”
Sure enough, I just came back from visiting the site for the first time, and eventually did find Selina’s tombstone. The tombstone is unique; not only because of the very peculiar “I’m a cute kid” epitaph, but because of the lack of last name, typeface, and obviously the location. It is located three lampposts from the supposedly haunted house; a house my companion and I had decided we would go see after the tombstone. However, plans change.
We did not see an apparition of Selina, hear her cry/laugh, or see anything spookier than any rural road at 1:30 AM would be. But, part of the legend of Kirby Road includes a truck that will supposedly chase away anyone who comes to investigate and then suddenly disappear.
Some accounts say it’s red, some that it has only one headlight. After we were done looking at Selina’s stone, we decided to wait till one moving car passed by, so that it would be slightly safer to walk back on the shoulder of the road. But the car did not pass. It pulled over; right in front of us and Selina’s tombstone. A pickup truck, but one with both headlights, and one that we believed to be black. The windows were not rolled down and nobody got out of the truck. My companion and I found that as good a time as any to get out of there, and proceeded to walk back to my car, which I had parked over at Stephanie Blvd, just under half a kilometre away.
The truck did not move from its place for at least five minutes. I remind you that this was at approximately 1:30 AM. I suppose it is entirely possible that the driver just saw two people at the side of the road, and decided to pull over and see what was going on, or that they too knew that Selina’s tombstone was there and just happened to be visiting at the same time. But the fact that nobody ever got out of the car or approached us in any way is peculiar. And the fact that it was a pickup truck is at least eerily coincidental.
We didn’t get a chance to investigate the house. I know I will certainly be making another trip there, as I still do have so much left to discover. Who is Selina? Why does she have a tombstone at the side of the road? Which stories about Kirby road are true? And how are they related, if at all? I’m being a little dishonest here as I have discovered the answers to a few of these questions already. But we’ll save that for another time for now.
From The Natural Mama
This Friday past, we decided to check out two houses we had heard about on Kirby Rd in Maple, Ontario. It was an interesting experience to say the least. I “saw” something that would blow my mind, and is not the first time I’ve seen a possible apparition (I’ll get to that little story later on). There are three stories concerning these houses. The first house is reported to have a reputation of crying babies and laughing children that are not there, and a tombstone with the words, “Selina. I was a cute child,” written upon it, nearby the house.
It is also reputed that if you park your vehicle on the driveway and sit quietly, the little girl, “Selina,” will run around your vehicle all the while tapping on it here and there. I did not experience this part of the suspected phenomena, but did see what I believe to be a young girl around the age of eight or nine years old, with a night gown on, and long, black hair sitting in the second tree, (on the right when walking into the property from the drive way) staring back at me. She was leaning outward and staring right at me. Scared the living crap out of me when I caught this “apparition” out of the corner of my eye, and turned back to see what I thought was shadowing. It was clear as day to me, but then, I am a believer in the paranormal.
We did voice recordings and photographing of the place as well, and have some interesting photos and recordings of both houses (still going through all of it). The people who own this land are in the process of renovations, (I do not recommend trespassing on people’s properties and – always ask first before you go paranormal investigating, always get permission from the owners of the properties) and have torn down a chicken coop as well as are in the process of either tearing down the barn, or renovating the barn.
Items found in the barn’s basement – old Italian workbook, old picture book (circa 1854), a Triumph dirt bike (circa late 40′s or 50′s possibly), horse shoes, old looking, and very worn. The main house is locked, and being renovated for occupancy, possibly occupied already. Again, I must stress – ask permission first before you enter this property.
There is also a story of a one headlight semi-truck that passes under the bridge, (before you get to the house) and through your vehicle if you park there. Apparently, (and I cannot neither confirm or deny it with research at this point.) this semi was involved in a horrible accident many years back. It may be an urban legend spin-off from the second house that I am about to talk about; you’ll see why in a second.
The second house, (rather, set of houses) has two houses on the property and two barns. The flooring of both houses are very dangerous. If you decide to check this one out, (at the other end of Kirby Rd, by the way) watch your footing, bring good flashlights and keep an eye out for skunks, raccoons, and bats. This house is called the “Hell House”. It is reputed to have been owned by a family of seven, where the father was involved with the KKK. It is also reputed to be a (the first, larger barn) gathering place of the KKK. The story goes that the father went nuts and killed his family, including a little girl of the same age as the first house. There you will find a lot of graffiti like “You are not alone,” and “murder is awesome,” as well as, “I am watching you”.
Obviously, this is added by human hands to amp up the hype about these houses and their purported hauntings. It is said, (and this is possibly the urban legend transferred to the semi truck with one headlight phenomena at the other house) that a man in a red pickup truck will chase you out of the property if he catches you on it then disappear into thin air. There is also a story of a young woman who is walking the road and suddenly screams, then runs into a nearby corn field screaming bloody murder. This is purported to be about a woman who was attacked, raped, and murdered in the corn fields near this property. She is supposed to disappear into the corn fields if you follow her.
I cannot confirm or deny any of these stories by research at this point, neither in architectural history, land history or anything in old newspapers or obits as of yet. I cannot find anything on any of these stories, and we never did find the tombstone. However, I have been told that a few “friends of friends” who hang out regularly at these areas, have seen the tombstone and report being chased by both the red pickup, and the semi with one head light, as well as seeing the woman in the cornfields. How accurate are these, I do not know, but I do know I am sure I saw something that night that IS unexplainable. All 19 of us present at both sites were adults, not children. So how is it I saw a child in a tree at 1 AM in the morning on a Friday night (or rather Saturday morning)? I cannot explain it, but I will be researching it, and will update if I do ever find any information on these properties!
