For the past couple weeks we’ve given a run down on the
country’s most haunted homes and their ghastly histories. While it’s easy to
shrug off these stories and put them out of your mind, would you feel as at
ease if you knew the same thing were going on right down the street? Believe it
or not, Ohio has plenty of their own haunted happenings, some of which you’ve
no doubt heard of, and some that you might not even believe. Take a look at
these “supposedly” ghostly gathering places.
Note: As interesting as these stories may be, we encourage
all readers to remember that these homes are just that: homes possibly occupied
by owners and family. We absolutely do not condone trespassing on private
property, and remind you that doing so can result in hefty legal fines or
arrest. We also do not condone the contacting or harassment of owners of these
properties. It’s fun to swap stories and pass down legends, but please: common sense.
Franklin Castle
The next spooky house on our list is our first home from
Ohio, and is also reportedly the most haunted house in the buckeye state
period. Franklin Castle (also known as the Hannes Tiedmann house) was erected
in 1865 and named for its owner, a German immigrant who had moved to the
Cleveland area and found success as a banker. His new found wealth allowed him
to build the towering 4 story structure resembling a castle for his wife Luise
and two children, August and Emma. Sadly, this would be the high point of life
at the Franklin Castle for the family. The first tragedy came in 1881 when
Emma, then only 15 years of age died from complications associated with
diabetes. Soon after, Hannes would lose his elderly mother Wiebeka, who also
resided in the castle as well. For the next three years the family would lose a
new or unborn child each year, piling on to the despair felt by everyone, but
especially Luise Tiedmann.
To take her mind off of the tragedies plaguing them, Hannes
began renovating the home to appear more and more like an actual castle, with
turrets and gargoyles added to the exterior edifice. Construction also began
inside, and saw the addition of a large ballroom as well as secret passageways,
concealed rooms, and hidden doors. Luisa would pass away in the castle just as
her daughter and mother in law, on March 24th 1895 from liver trouble,
leaving Hannes to care for the castle alone. He remarried a couple years later
and sold the house to a family in the brewing business. By 1908 Hannes had
outlived his entire family and was left alone, after a divorce from his second
wife. He died following a massive stroke that same year.
Years before, stories had begun to circulate among the
people in and around Cleveland that much more had been going on behind the
scenes at Franklin Castle. Years after the castle became vacant, a new owner
made a grisly discovery in one of the many hidden rooms; dozens on infant
skeletons were found concealed, and dated to back around the time that the
Tiedmann’s would have resided there. Rumors also began to spread of Hannes
Tiedmann’s infidelity and supposed taste for violence. According to legend,
Hannes had a mistress who attempted to leave him and marry another man. When he
found out, he attacked the woman within the house and strangled her to death.
Another story is that Hannes killed a maid on her wedding day after she
rejected his advances, and that he killed a niece inside the castle in an
attempt to put her out of her misery (she was supposedly suffering from an unidentified
mental illness.)
It is unknown if any
of these stories are fact or not, but the infant skeletons were definitely
found in the mid 70’s by then owner Sam Muscatello. Three others had owned the
home before him, a family of 8 that were frightened out of the house by the
supposed sounds of ghosts, an ailing attorney and his nurse (who vowed never to
step foot on the property again) and the German Socialist Party, who rumor has
it were actually Nazis and that several members met their ends in the house at
the hands of a machine gun. The most prevalent reports of the supernatural are
the sounds of children crying within the house, of voices coming from other
rooms, and the sound of footsteps on the upper floors. Some have even reported
the feeling of being strangled in certain rooms, leading many to believe the
story of Hannes choking his mistress to death to be true. Whatever the case,
there definitely seems to be something amiss with Franklin Castle.
Walhalla Road – The Mooney Mansion
For residents of northern Columbus, tales of Walhalla Road
and what might have occurred there years ago are prevalent. The road itself is
distinct and unique; while the majority of the surrounding area is flat, the
Walhalla area becomes hilly, with large towering houses sitting atop the high
ridges that border the street, all seemingly covered by a near impenetrable
canopy of trees. Perhaps the geography and overall mood of the street is
responsible for the tales of ghosts and ghastly terror, because it is not hard
to imagine one of the houses you’re walking past might just be the Mooney
Mansion.
The tales of Walhalla Road have been told (and changed
around) for years and as a result the scene for the supposed murder of an
entire family has long been forgotten. No one knows for sure which house of
Walhalla is the fabled Mooney Mansion, just of its supernatural history. One thing
that most people do agree on is just what happened there, and trust us, it’s
not pretty. Sometime around the 1950’s, a Dr. Mooney moved into one of the
Walhalla Road residences with his wife and children. Depending on who is
telling the story, they’ll tell you next that the doctor became depressed or
was driven to madness over any number of things, including the stress of work,
of financial problems, infidelity, or even demonic possession. Unable to cope
any longer, Dr. Mooney unleashed his madness on his own family, waiting until
nightfall before killing his wife and children with an axe as they slept.
Weather he killed himself, was caught, or escaped to prowl the surrounding area
is also up for debate amongst storytellers, although almost all warn that the
murders are reenacted there every night by the ghosts of the family, with a
strange blue glow seeping through the houses windows and doors.
Another version also exists that claims to have taken place
several years earlier, with Dr. Mooney losing most of his money during the
stock market crash of 1929. Driven to despair, the doctor killed his entire
family before hanging their lifeless bodies from the Calumet Street Bridge that
spans Walhalla Road. With his horrific work done, the doctor then hung himself
as well. Supposedly, if you walk the road late at night and head for the
bridge, you can sometimes still see the ghostly outlines of bodies hanging from
it. Another popular feature of the Mooney legend is that the house behind the
story includes a nearly life-sized statue in the backyard of a woman which
supposedly cries blood on the anniversary of the murders. Whether it’s true
that such a statue does in fact exist on Walhalla Road is unknown, but excuse
us if we don’t go looking to find out!
While this story is a favorite in and around central Ohio,
further digging on the subject yielded some interesting results. It seems that
in recent years, most investigators of the Mooney Mansion legend have
identified the house in question on Walhalla Road as a beautiful old home built
around 1913 (dig enough and you’ll find the address, we have decided to omit it
here for security purposes.) Even more fascinating is the fact that public
records reveal that a Dr. Charles M. Mooney, a popular ear nose and throat doctor
from Columbus purchased the house with his wife Derrie in 1944. Sadly for ghost
enthusiasts, this is where fact and fiction diverge. As it turns out, the
doctor and his wife made the mansion their home well into their 70’s, both
passing away from natural causes after watching their very much alive sons and
daughter grow up, get married, and start families of their own. Several former
residents of Walhalla Road who would have been around at the time of the
supposed murders have recounted that no such crimes took place during that time
frame. Unfortunately for us (fortunately for the family!) this looks more like
a case of area residents letting their imaginations run wild with explanations
for why no one stays at the property for very long.
Jury is still out on that creepy bleeding statue though…
The Thurber House
Almost anyone born and raised around Columbus (or anyone who
has survived 10th grade English) can probably tell you about author
and cartoonist James Thurber. The son of a civil clerk, Thurber spent his
entire childhood and OSU days living at 77 Jefferson Avenue, before going on to
a lucrative career as a writer and illustrator for the New Yorker, as well as
penning nearly 40 critically acclaimed books in his time. He is remembered for
his humor, both written and drawn, as well as introducing the world to lovable
characters such as the titular Walter Mitty. But before Thurber could make a
name for himself in the world of literature, a very different story was
unfolding at 77 Jefferson Avenue involving his own encounters with a ghost.
Thurber would tell his story later in the pages of “My Life
and Hard Times” with a tale called “The Night the Ghost Got In.” In it, he
discusses an incident that occurred sometime in 1915 while he was a junior in college,
and admittedly, a non-believer of the paranormal. So when James heard what
sounded like the heavy footsteps of a man pacing around his kitchen table one
night before bed, his immediate thought was that someone had broken into his
family’s home; his older brother was sleeping down the hall, and his father and
younger brother were currently out of state, meaning it couldn’t be anyone but
an intruder. He woke his brother, directed him to the top of the stairs that
led down into the dining room, and listened as the steps died away. Both boys
were shaken by the noises they heard, but frankly terrified when the loud steps
started up again taking the stairs two at a time and heading right for the
Thurber siblings. James’ brother bolted for his room, while James himself
slammed the door to the second story landing shut just as the steps reached the
top.
Puzzled by his encounter, Thurber decided to research the
history of 77 Jefferson Avenue, discovering from area neighbors that this
wasn’t the first time that residents of the house had encountered “The steps
that go round and round.” Other families had fled the home after dealing with
the restless spirit night after night. He also discovered the possible origin
of the spectre; apparently long before the Thurber’s moved in, a man living
there had discovered his wife was not being faithful thanks to an anonymous
tip. It drove him to despair until one night after pacing the floor of the
kitchen he bounded up the stairs to the second floor and shot himself in the head.
Another interesting fact revealed in Thurber’s story was the date of the
incident, which took place on November 17th, 1915; exactly 47 years
to the day that the Ohio State Lunatic Asylum had burned to the ground, taking
seven people with it. The location of the former asylum? Right where 77
Jefferson Avenue sits today.
Years later the Thurber family would move out of 77
Jefferson Avenue, which was converted into a boarding house. Renters would also
hear the ghostly footsteps in the kitchen and on the stairs, further
reinforcing the idea that the building was haunted. The house would stand empty
after that, until Thurber’s fame had spread far and wide enough for owners to
convert it into a museum and non-profit writing center. The lower floors serve as
the museum, while the third floor is often occupied by a Writer-in-Residence.
Several writers would also report strange occurrences, like seeing the dark
outline of a man through an upstairs window, the security alarms going off in
the dead of night when no one else was present, and of course, those steps
pounding up the stairs. One writer even mentioned in an essay on her stay that
her dog would growl at something sitting on the couch, something that only the
dog could sense. Today, you can tour the house every day of the week (excluding
major holidays) from 1 to 4 PM at no charge. Guided tours are held on Sundays
for $4 for adults, $2 for children.
The Kelton House
Continuing our exploration of well-known and possibly
haunted homes in Columbus, the Kelton House located at 586 East Town Street
might give the Thurber House a run for its money. Once a stop on the
Underground Railroad, The Kelton House is supposedly home to as many as four
ghosts; all members of the prestigious Kelton family, who occupied it for well
over a hundred years.
The home was built in 1852 by Fernando Cortez Kelton, a
fervent abolitionist from Vermont who made his fortune as a drygoods
wholesaler. It was their dedication to the abolishment of slavery that led
their eldest son Oscar to join the Civil War as a member of the 95th
Ohio Infantry, and later become a First Lieutenant. Sadly, Oscar would not live to see his
efforts realized, or the end of slavery; he was killed in the Battle of Brice’s
Crossroads on June 10th 1864 when he was only 18 years old. It is
perhaps this tragic end that leads many to believe that Oscar still roams the
property of the Kelton House, as a young man in Union blues has been spotted
several times within the house and in the yard.
Both of Oscar’s parents are also rumored to be present at
the home as well; Sophia, Fernando’s wife and Oscar’s mother has been seen in
period dress with a veil over her face, gazing out the window of her former
room, which is rumored to possess the most spirit activity. Fernando himself
has also been spotted as a man in a flannel shirt who is seen and then
disappears seconds later.
The final ghost belongs to the last member of the Kelton
family to occupy the home, Grace Bird Kelton who died there on Christmas Day
1975. Once a renowned interior designer who studied at The Parsons School of
Design and the Pratt Institute; Grace’s biggest claim to fame was in assisting
Jacqueline Kennedy with the redecoration of the White House in 1960. It is
perhaps this attention to detail and design that lead to some spooky activity
in 1976 when the Kelton House underwent renovations after her death. Workers
reported a number of strange occurrences, such as tools going missing and
turning up in locked cabinets, furniture being moved to their original spots,
and cleaning supplies being left out for others to tidy up. Supposedly this
activity still occurs today, and staff members are careful to “listen” to what
Grace is telling them.
Today the Kelton House is home to the Junior League of
Columbus, who uses it as their headquarters. Eighty to ninety percent of the
furniture and objects within the home are all original pieces owned by the
Keltons, and you can tour the property Monday through Friday from 10 AM to 5
PM. The Kelton House is also available to rent out for events and celebrations;
several wedding receptions are held there every year. Just keep an eye out for
unenvied guests in period dress (as is reported to happen.)
Scwartz Castle
Standing tall at 3rd Ave. is the Scwartz Castle,
the highest building (and probably most recognizable) landmark in German
Village. This unique property has a couple different tales associated with
ghosts, the most noteworthy being that of the building’s creator, Frederick
William Scwartz. Scwartz was a German immigrant who arrived in Columbus
sometime in the mid-1800’s and opened up a successful pharmacy down on Main
Street. The story goes that Scwartz was awaiting the arrival of his fiancé who
was still in Germany, and who professed a desire to be wed inside a castle. In
an effort to make her dreams come true, Scwartz used a portion of his
substantial revenue to construct the building, which included a turret similar
to that of a castle. However, things would end badly for Scwartz and his labor
of love; his fiancé would later contact him after the building’s construction
to inform him that she had selected a new groom and would not be coming to
America.
According to the accounts of people living in the area at
the time, Scwartz was driven mad by the breakup. He began construction of a
number of secret passageways in and out of the building, as well as 5 full
stories submerged in the basement. He became a vegetarian over-night, refused
to shave or cut his hair and drank only rainwater collected around the
property. He would only wear wool against his skin, jogged barefoot 365 days a
year, and sometimes sunbathed naked on top of the castle. This strange behavior
continued for the rest of Scwartz’ life and almost became a source of
entertainment among the area residents. When he eventually passed away, he did
not specify any relatives or friends that he wished to leave the building to,
and as such it became property of the city. Soon after Scwartz death however,
neighbors began to report ghostly apparitions of the castle’s former owner;
still milling around the property, jogging barefoot, and even climbing the old
ladder to the roof.
This would not be the only brush with the paranormal to
grace Scwartz castle however; after the city took control of the property, the
basement area was converted into apartments. Supposedly, an unidentified man
hung himself in one of the apartments and still dwells there today. Another
story is that of two brothers who shared an apartment on the 2nd
floor of the basement; they became involved in a drunken argument one night
which turned violent and left one dead from an apparent stabbing. Legend has it
that you can still hear them quarreling, their cries coming from that same 2nd
floor basement apartment. Whether or not these stories are true, you can be
sure that the tale of Frederick Scwartz is authentic; he truly built and owned
the home, and participated in a list of odd behaviors in German Village, which
he supposedly still performs to this day. Let’s just hope he gave up on the
nude sunbathing.