Haunted Roads of Western Pennsylvania

by Thomas White

  Another part of this legend involves the car rolling uphill against gravity. This part of the legend is most likely directly tied to another strange road in North Park, Gravity Hill. Located at the junction of Kummer and McKinney Roads, Gravity Hill is actually an optical illusion caused by the geographic features of the land. When a car is put in neutral at Gravity Hill, it appears to roll uphill. There are many gravity hills around the country (including one of the most famous in Bedford County). Legends about North Park’s Gravity Hill have been around as long as the stories about Blue Mist Road, and it has also been a legend trip destination. Though we cannot say for sure, it is likely that the story of Gravity Hill became conflated with the stories about Blue Mist Road.

  Even if the car accident story is common and widespread, it still does not explain how it came to be associated with this particular road. One would assume that the connection was inspired by a real car accident. For many years, local ghost hunters, legend seekers and historians looked for any historical evidence of a car accident that might have inspired the legend. This is more difficult than it may seem because not all accidents were reported in newspapers. It was only recently that Pittsburgh historian John Schalcosky discovered an account of a fatal accident that occurred at the intersection of Irwin Road and Babcock Boulevard. On April 19, 1973, a thirty-five-year-old woman was killed when a car crossed the center line and struck her vehicle. Her two small children, ages five and eighteen months, were in the car but survived the impact.

  It seems like such a tragic story could easily morph into an urban legend. There may have even been other accidents that escaped the historical record. But does that mean the road is not haunted? Numerous paranormal investigators have visited the road over the years and have come back with mixed results and opinions. While some have classified all of the happenings on the road as urban legends, others think that the ghosts of many victims of car accidents may indeed haunt the road. Since there is no way to say for sure, belief or disbelief in the ghosts will be left up to the reader.

  Heading north on Blue Mist Road. Courtesy of Justina White.

  The other early legend involves the tombstones in Cross Roads Cemetery. This legend is a bit easier to explain. As mentioned previously, the stones seem to be moving toward each other. One belongs to John Fogal (1819–1864) and the other his wife, Mary Fogal (1819–1883). Of course, the reason for the stones leaning toward each other does not require a supernatural explanation. The ground is merely sinking between them, causing them to lean inward. The original story is a harmless supernatural occurrence. In fact, the idea of the ghosts of two dead lovers making their grave markers touch is more romantic than scary. Interestingly, both this version of the tombstone legend and the early car legend are both harmless hauntings that do not threaten a legend tripper in any way. The other legends about the road, including the alternate tombstone legends, emerge in the mid-1970s and after and imply that there is much more potential danger for a visitor to the road. This shift in tone coincides with the greater changes in American culture mentioned in the previous chapter, which included a new wave of moral panics and an increase in perceived threats to children and young people.

  As mentioned, the tombstone legend changed during the 1990s, taking on a darker apocalyptic meaning. The timing is key to understanding this change because it occurred in the mid-1990s as we approached the year 2000. The turning of the millennium fueled apocalyptic movements around the world of both the traditional religious and also the secular type (the Y2K scare, for example). It is natural that the tensions about the millennium, whether taken seriously or not, would leave some impact on folklore and legends. It was as if the tombstones were an hourglass, silently recording the little time that we had left until the end. The new version of the tombstone story reflects the flexibility of legends and their ability to adapt to popular fears and cultural pressures. Both versions are still retold today. Though the “end of the world” version may no longer seem particularly relevant, the Internet has kept it alive.

  Perhaps the most difficult Blue Mist legend to analyze is that of the Ku Klux Klan’s alleged presence there. Historically, there is no evidence of Klan activity on Irwin Road or in North Park for that matter. There are anecdotal accounts of a KKK picnic being held in the park at one point. Certainly, no one was actually lynched at the hanging tree (or on any other tree) near the road. With no real evidence to support the stories, we have to wonder why these accounts would continue for so long.

  To answer this question, we must first remember that the second Ku Klux Klan, the one that most people are familiar with, emerged in 1915 and was very active in the north in the early decades of the twentieth century. The organization was not only anti-black but also anti-Catholic, anti-Jewish and anti-immigrant. Membership had swelled by the 1920s as Americans with nativist leanings joined in large numbers. Many factors caused this surge in membership in the years after World War I, including tensions with and between immigrant groups, the attempt to return to an isolationist foreign policy and the growing fear of communism after the first Red Scare, to name a few. At that time, members of the Klan held open parades and meetings and often made no attempt to hide their identity. The Klan was active in western Pennsylvania and even triggered a riot in Carnegie in 1923 that resulted in the shooting death of a Klan member. At the height of its popularity, there were at least fifteen thousand Klan members in Allegheny County alone. Even though membership in the organization plummeted in the 1930s, it has lingered with a handful of members ever since.

  The Ku Klux Klan marches openly in Washington, D.C., at its highpoint in the 1920s. The KKK of the early twentieth century opposed not only African Americans but also Catholics, Jews and immigrants. Courtesy of the Library of Congress.

  Though the Ku Klux Klan was not very active in the Pittsburgh region in the 1970s when the legend emerged, people in the area, and Americans in general, were still dealing with the lingering issues of the civil rights movement and the social problems that it forced to the surface. By the late 1960s, the movement was no longer a unified front and continuing tensions led to riots in some cities, including a 1968 riot in Pittsburgh. The years that followed saw debates over social inequity, redistricting schools, busing, the unofficial redlining of neighborhoods and a variety of other issues. Issues of race continued as a subtext for social and political debate.

  It was during the mid-1970s when a series of rumors about Ku Klux Klan activity appeared not just on Blue Mist Road but also at a variety of other haunted locations around Pennsylvania and other mid-Atlantic and midwestern states. Many of these legends also involved hanging trees. These legends were mostly tied to liminal areas near the suburbs or rural areas that had a predominately white population. We can only speculate, but it seems that reports of the Klan on Blue Mist Road and other places may have emerged as a result of lingering racial tensions. It may also explain why the Klan legends still resurface occasionally and have not faded away. The Klan represents the specter of that tension in folklore.

  For some, the legends of the Ku Klux Klan may have actually held a different meaning. Since the Klan seemed just as dangerous to white teenagers in many of the stories as it did to African Americans, it may be that they became a metaphor (an obviously exaggerated one) for the perceived “oppression” of youth by an increasingly conservative and fearful adult culture. Teenagers usually possess a natural sense of rebellion, and that sense seemed amplified during America’s conservative political and social turn beginning in the mid-1970s. As a result of the social and cultural excesses of the late 1960s and early 1970s, popular music, movies and other aspects of youth culture increasingly came under fire in the years that followed. While some of these criticisms may have been justified, many others were misplaced or resulted from misunderstanding. In this case, the presence of the Klan had less to do with race and was more of a symbol of what teenagers might consider a reactionary turn by adults in restricting their freedoms. (Let us be clear—we are no
t equating the actual conservative movement of the late 1970s and ’80s with the KKK.) This is only a guess, however, and it is hard to say anything definitive about individuals’ interactions with this legend.

  The Ku Klux Klan receiving new members in the 1920s near the nation’s capital. Membership soared during that time. Courtesy of the Library of Congress.

  There is also a possible alternative to the origin of the hanging tree story on Blue Mist Road, but it is also only speculation. Kurt Wilson recalled hearing a story about the hanging tree in the 1980s that did not involve the Klan but a suicide instead. That version of the story claimed that a man had taken his own life on the road, and his body was later discovered by someone walking near the tree. In that version, he was the ghost who haunted the road. Perhaps if there was a suicide by hanging on the road, it may have inspired the legend of the tree. It is also likely that news of the death would not have been reported on at the time in any significant way but might have traveled by word of mouth. The story of the hanging tree, regardless of its origins, was also helped along by the fact that on at least one occasion, someone tied a real noose to a tree along the road.

  Tales of satanic cults and witches’ covens inhabiting the road are easier to put in context. These legends clearly emerged during the Satanic Panic of the 1980s. As mentioned in the previous chapter, the fear of a vast network of organized satanic cults that murdered and ritually abused children became a nationwide moral panic. This panic was fed by the media and re-enforced by so-called experts on the topic who began to see evidence of Satanism everywhere.

  The panic slowly emerged out of several social changes in the late 1970s. One was the rise of the Christian Right to political and social prominence. Generally, the movement took a very black-and-white view of not only social issues but also of youth culture and anything that could be perceived as the occult. Another was the rise of fringe religions and the resulting anti-cult movement. Because of groups like Jim Jones’s People’s Temple (and the Jonestown mass suicide/murder), the term “cult” became synonymous with violence, fanatical brainwashed followers and manipulative leaders. A network of experts and help groups were established to assist people who were trying to escape cults or rescue a loved one from their brainwashing. The 1970s also saw a scare throughout the Midwest about the alleged mutilation of cattle in a mysterious fashion. Many concluded that the cattle deaths were not a result of wild animals but rather UFOs or satanic cults.

  By 1980, fears of a growing occult conspiracy were seemingly confirmed with the publication of the book Michelle Remembers, which purported to be the story of a satanic cult survivor. The book, which has since been discredited, is based on memories “recovered” by a psychiatrist about ritual abuse and satanic ceremonies that Michelle witnessed and participated in as a child. Its publication opened a floodgate of similar stories. By 1983, accusations of satanic ritual abuse were leveled at teachers and care providers at the McMartin Preschool in California, leading to the costliest trial in American history at the time. Though the owners and staff were eventually cleared, the dramatic yet fabricated accounts provided by alleged victims captured national attention. Small children were manipulated by a few psychiatrists and psychologists who used hypnosis to recover “repressed” memories. Such techniques have since been discredited because they frequently create false memories.

  The early 1980s also saw the absurd attack on Proctor & Gamble and their over-a-century-old logo. The rumor was spread that the company actively supported Satanism and donated some profits to Anton LaVey’s Church of Satan. Critics attacked the company’s original logo, a man in the moon facing thirteen stars, claiming to find hidden symbolism. Despite the company’s best efforts to fend off the accusations, it was forced to drop the logo in 1985. For those looking for Satanists, the Proctor & Gamble episode was proof that the Devil’s followers were everywhere and could infiltrate any organization.

  The second half of the decade saw extensive media coverage and a deluge of new cult survivor publications. The respected news program 20/20 ran a report on May 16, 1985, called “The Devil Worshippers.” It profiled the alleged crimes of teenage Satanists and discussed the ritual abuse of children by occultists. The program implied that such activities were widespread. In 1988, Geraldo Rivera hosted a national television special on Devil worship in which he claimed that there was an active network of over one million Satanists in America. Numerous other news sources and publications discussed the emerging threat, as did many religious groups.

  One of the other reasons that the threat of satanic cults seemed real was that many police, educators, counselors and psychologists took it seriously. There were, of course, always a handful of independently acting criminals who claimed to be or were Devil worshippers, but the fact that authorities took seriously the idea that a vast and organized network of Satanists was out there attempting to recruit, abuse or murder both children and adults frightened many people. Police departments around the country received training from a new type of expert, the occult crime investigator. Counselors and school psychologists also received training on how to spot teenagers who may be drifting toward the evil network. They cast a net so wide that almost any teenager might be considered at risk. Anyone who was considered antisocial, listened to heavy metal music, wore dark clothing, played role-playing games (especially Dungeons & Dragons) or did anything else that they thought was “not normal” might be labeled in such a way. Teenagers, being rebellious, of course, often adopted these habits and traits intentionally just to shock adults.

  It is easy to see how such a moral panic could influence the folklore and legends of young adults who grew up during that time. The satanic cult legends about Blue Mist Road circulated from the early 1980s through the mid-’90s but peaked around 1989 and ’90. It seems that the first cult legends began shortly after the publication of Michelle Remembers but really expanded after the intense media coverage later in the decade. The spike in the late 1980s is probably the result of the airing of the Geraldo special coupled with an increase in anti-cult programs and some media coverage in western Pennsylvania at that time. Local newspapers, including the Pittsburgh Press, ran articles about the sudden interest in satanic cults. While many of these attempted to be balanced, or even skeptical, they seemed to fuel the panic nonetheless.

  One might reasonably ask why the legends became linked to Blue Mist Road at all. This is difficult to answer. Since the Ku Klux Klan already had an alleged presence there, the cult may have seemed to fit with the road’s existing reputation. (We could humorously imagine the road like an evil time share.) Also, there was at least some “satanic” graffiti reportedly discovered there by teenagers, though it was nothing that would be unusual for ordinary vandals. One man, who wanted to remain anonymous, told the authors that when he heard the vague rumors of cults in the late 1980s, he made his own trip out to the road to check it out. He also brought a can of spray paint and chalk. Finding nothing sinister, he made a few pentagrams on the crumbling road as a joke. This type of activity added to the perceived reality of the cult.

  The presence of the cult house, or at least its ruins, made up another key part of the legend. It was where victims were sacrificed and their ghosts and other evil spirits continued to dwell. Mysterious ruins can certainly fuel the imagination, but in this case, they are probably not that mysterious. In a strange irony, the cult house is actually the remains of a building that was used decades ago by the Pittsburgh Bible Institute, which also ran a nearby orphanage. It was used for summer programs for many years, but when it was eventually vacated, it attracted teenagers who would have parties in the old structure. The building finally fell into disrepair in the 1970s and was either knocked down or collapsed. Be warned that there is still debris at the site and tremendous potential for injury.

  And let’s not forget the hoof prints of the Devil himself that appear mysteriously in the snow and the mud along the road. Initially, we believed this part of the legend to be fabricated, o
r at least untraceable, until we saw them for ourselves on multiple occasions. The first time we saw these bipedal hoof prints, they resembled horse tracks rather that the stereotypical cloven feet one would expect from the Devil. Still, a two-legged horse would be strange enough. Horseback riders do sometimes use the road-turned-trail. It seems that one possible reason that the tracks appear bipedal is due to the poor condition of the road. Parts of the asphalt are still intact while others have crumbled away or are covered in mud. So if a horse travels down certain parts of the road, only some of its hooves will leave tracks. The same happens with deer, which leave more Devil-like prints. It may also simply be due to the fact that the tracks of the front and back hooves are far enough apart that they appear to be two sets of bipedal tracks rather that the fours hooves of one animal, if one is inclined to believe so.

  There is also the issue of the sacrificed animals that have been occasionally reported on the road. While we have heard one or two accounts of small animals (such as a squirrel) being dismembered, legend trippers have been most shocked when they encounter what appears to be a ritually slaughtered deer. There have been a handful of such reports over the years, and while some carcasses were found in the woods, other were found lying in the road. Though there have not been any reports of this in recent years, the authors discovered one of these allegedly sacrificed deer on the road in 2009. After some investigating, a local resident who did not wish to be identified tipped us off to what he believed was the real source of the animal carcasses. He was aware of a local hunter, who no longer lived in the area, that used to butcher the deer he shot, take the meat he wanted and dumped the rest down near Irwin Run. This would certainly seem like a logical explanation and also explain why the deer were cut open. One can see, however, why encountering the bodies of the deer while exploring in the dark would reinforce the veracity of the stories in the mind of legend trippers, especially when they are already expecting to encounter the unusual and unexplained.