- Chronicles is made possible by a grant from the Erie Community Foundation, a community assets grant provided by the Erie County Gaming Revenue Authority, support from Springhill Senior Living, and the generous support of Thomas B. Hagen.

This is WQLN.

- Donna.

Donna.

Donna, where are you?

- Come on, Jack!

- Donna, where are you?

By the car!

Hurry!

Please!

Donna, I still can't see you.

Donna!

- There's Jack.

Hurry!

Hurry!

- Come on man.

We gotta go.

Get in, get in, get in.

Get in!

- Now, now, go, go, go!

- And the four kids never went back down to that bridge at night again.

My dad still swears his cousin Jack won't even go out at night after dusk when he's in town visited.

No one believed him, of course, but they all still tell the story.

That's small towns for you, though.

Love to spread the gossip around, but if you're the one that's too out there...

There were a few more sightings that summer.

After that, the Sheepman was never heard from again.

You can still see the marks of the Sheepman on my jacket.

Looks pretty sick now, don't you think?

Jack left it in my grandparents' attic when he left for college.

Something about it being bad luck or whatever, but I went looking for it when I was at the family reunion last month.

- Yeah, definitely from a "Sheepman".

Shouldn't you guys be talking about like farm stuff, instead of rabid sheep people?

- Spooky stories are kind of a family tradition for us.

- What could have done this, Ethan?

I don't think there's anything even big enough in the woods.

- If it's eyes were feet above Jack, there's no way.

Nothing around here is that tall.

But a Sheepman, really?

- I have no clue what could have done it, but what I do know is that you will never catch me dead in those woods.

- You know, it's never what you expected that scares you.

That's what you never thought of... at all.

- Alright, take it back.

You know, that bridge is only a 15 minute walk out back.

Kind of spooky, but really cool.

You could prove you're not a total wimp, ET.

If the Sheepman isn't real, shouldn't be a problem, right?

- Come on.

Maybe it'll be fun.

Like, uh, ghost hunting.

Ooh, should I be the camera?

Here.

I could take some cool shots like my dad did for the paper back in the day.

Plus I haven't been able to use the flash on this yet.

What do you think, E?

- I don't know.

Is it really safe to go out in the woods at night?

"Sheepman" or not, aren't there bears, coyotes... ?

- I mean, I hardly think we're gonna run into anything bigger than a raccoon but it'll be cool to see the bridge and take some cool pictures together.

- Well, time for a walk.

- Can we at least bring a flashlight?

- Always prepared.

- Great.

Cool.

Awesome.

Ready to hunt some ghosts and monsters?

- You know, I always thought exploring old buildings could be fun, but the whole "ghost" part of ghost hunting always seemed a bit wild.

I remember when I was a kid, my parents would take us to Girard so that we could see the ghost tours at the Battles Museum.

Oh, is that the one with the park and the trails to the creek nearby... and the big trees?

Yep.

Zach's heard this one already.

He and I were actually there last summer for an event.

It's where we heard all the ghost stories: some classic ones like lights turning on in empty rooms, cold spots.

There were some weird ones, like that boy who found a body of a ghost soldier.

Go on, Liz, tell 'em about Nan.

- Ooh, if I remember correctly, it was back in the early 1900s...

This was out in west county, not far from where my mom grew up in Girard.

The Battles family owned a bank there back in the day, as well as a big farm with the two houses on Walnut Street and some other businesses too.

Georgianna Reed, or Nan, came to help Miss Beth Battles take care of her aging mother, Charlotte.

She helped Beth manage the farm and other enterprises, and the two younger ladies kept each other company.

The two ladies quickly became friends, and Nan continued to live at the Battles farmstead, even after Charlotte passed in 1920 or so.

The two women built a lovely home for themselves, putting in new indoor plumbing, growing gardens, and hosting parties for friends.

They traveled across the country together, even as far as California.

Nan drove Beth's car for her, the two of them cavorting around the county like kids on spring break.

Must have been a dang good life - playing cards, looking at the flowers, sipping tea all afternoon.

It seemed a pretty peaceful life.

Nan and Beth lived in the White House together for several decades until Beth's death in 1952.

Beth left much of her estate and Nan's capable hands.

Nan would continue to live at the White House until she too passed on.

I can't imagine how quiet that house must have felt after nearly 40 years with her best friend.

The property was donated to the historical society, and it was around this time that unusual things began to happen.

Tools that went missing showed up later somewhere else.

A plumber even claimed an elderly woman was watching him work on the upstairs bathroom and pointed out a picture of Nan when asked to describe her.

Perhaps she wanted to make sure his work was up to her standards.

Even in recent years, people visiting the property have had strange experiences.

All sorts of standard ghost behavior: phantom touches, cold spots and the like.

Supposedly, it isn't uncommon for men to feel uncomfortable or suddenly cold when entering Beth's room, like they're unwelcome.

Sometimes lights are seen on when no one is in the building, but that could just be old wiring or forgetfulness.

Some even say you can still see Beth wandering the yard long flowing dress and all.

- That's actually kind of sweet.

Beth still in the garden and Nan in the house still taking care of things.

- What are the all do you think is actually haunted?

Honestly, I don't even want to think about it.

- I kind of wanna go see if I can, like, see her.

Like maybe she'll pose for a portrait or something here.

Say Cheese!

- Hey, I wasn't ready.

It's fine.

- At least let us look at it.

- Fine.

Fine.

Come on.

- Dang...

I look good.

- Wait, what is that?

- Looks like eyeshine.

Probably a raccoon or a possum.

- What if it's... A ghost?

Knock it off, Zach.

How much longer until the bridge, anyway?

it's starting to get cold out here.

Maybe five minutes, if y'all would stop walking so slow.

You on my jacket?

It's pretty warm.

- Yeah.

Maybe.

- Can we just get this over with so we can go home?

- Come on then.

Oh, there's a branch up here.

Watch your step.

- Take care of it.

- Come on.

- Oh, see, told you it was an animal.

- Do the rest of you having any good ghost stories?

Kinda like hearing other people's.

My family, as much as we like telling scary stories, don't often get new ones.

- I have one.

I have a story my gramma used to tell me when I would spend the night at her house, but it's not really scary.

- Tell us anyway.

- Okay.

It was back when my gramma was younger, in the late sixties, early seventies maybe.

And her and her brother would spend all day walking down at Wintergreen Gorge.

There was this young guy just a bit older than her, like that they'd see walking his big old dog down there, all the time.

He'd just be playing with the dog and walking in the woods.

Gramma, she kind of knew him from school and they were friendly when they met.

I think his name was Tim, maybe.

I'm not sure anymore.

The dog was named something funny.

Oh, what was it?

Oh, Dutch.

That was it.

Sometimes they'd say hi and Tim would let Gramma and her brother play with the dog when they met.

But seriously, those two were inseparable.

Never seen apart.

Eventually the kid stopped showing up to walk his dog at the gorge and there were all sorts of rumors going around about what he'd gotten himself into.

A bad crowd, a cult.

Of course, that was the '80s when everybody got like weird and superstitious and stuff.

So who knows what actually happened.

- [Radio] Hello, and welcome to Car Talk on National Public Radio... - But anyways, after she graduated college and got married, Gramma told me that Tim had gotten his act together enough that she heard he'd gotten engaged, too.

But... well... Gramma still has the article somewhere.

It was so sad.

Apparently, at his bachelor party, his friends got him to drink one.

Too.

Many.

Bad choices, bad influences.

Ugh, I can't even imagine.

You know that bridge at the end of East 38th where the parking lot for the Gorge is?

Tim apparently flipped his car into the creek.

It was a long time before Gramma went back to the Gorge, but Gramma wanted to like restart hikes, with my mom once she could walk.

Apparently, once they got down to the creek bed, my mom asked if she could pet the doggy.

Gramma asked her what she was talking about before she heard a big "woof" behind her.

When she turned around, up on the trail on the hill above, was a big dog, walking beside a familiar young kid.

Almost every time my gramma goes back there for a walk, she sees Timmy and his dog walking up the trail, just too far ahead to catch up with.

- That's kind of sweet.

Sad but sweet.

At least Tim got to spend eternity as a ghost with his pup.

- I feel like I've heard that story before.

Students over at the college walking on the trails, seeing strange things or whatnot.

Heck, isn't there another wandering ghost in Erie?

Oh, Professor Jackson was telling us about Mad Anthony Wayne.

- Oh my God.

Yes.

And he's still looking for his bones.

Have you guys ever been to that field trip where they take you to the museum and they show you the big pot that he got boiled in?

- Hey, you gotta do what you gotta do, I guess.

- No, it's always the things that have actually like really happened that freak me out the most.

I mean, Wayne, the Romanian guy from the vampire crypt, the Biegert murders.

Oh, just gives me the shivers.

- Well, how do you know the Sheepman isn't actually real?

- I mean, there's no way, right?

- Are you sure?

Would my family lie about that sort of thing?

I mean, you saw the jacket.

- What was that?

- Kind of sounded like a lynx or a fisher maybe.

- Yeah.

Cool.

Great.

Well, whatever it is they're doing out here, I really don't think we should be too.

- How much longer do we have?

- We're almost there.

Let's just go to the bridge, take some pictures and go home, if y'all gonna be scaredy-cats about it.

Anyone got one more ghost story before we get there?

- I do.

Well, not really a ghost story per se, but it is spooky.

- Ooh, I wanna hear it.

- Well, you know how Erie used to be a big fishing town?

My great-grandfather used to work for one of the smaller fisheries down at the Bayfront.

He would hop on the boats with the other dock workers, they'd load up the fish and pack 'em up for sale.

Now, Great-Grandpa was fine at the shore, but never was one for sailing.

Gramps told me his dad never wanted to be near water he couldn't see through.

There are good reasons not to go out on the water during a Lake Erie storm.

Waves taller than your boat and storms that form at the drop of a hat.

And the Storm Hag, of course.

But sailors are a superstitious lot.

As often as they joked with great-Grandpa about the call of the Storm Hag on the dock, no one ever joked once they were out on the water.

It was October when Lake Erie starts to get violent with her storms.

Most of the bigger fisheries were closing up for the season.

Great-grandpa, well, if his boss sent out the boats, he would wait at the dock to collect the fish.

As it neared the end of his shift, Great-grandpa went to leave.

Just then, he noticed something in the water on the other side of the bay.

Someone was out there.

As Great-Grandpa ventured further and further across the water, whoever he'd seen, whatever he'd seen, was gone.

"Anyone over there?"

he called.

No one answered, but the wind.

"Anyone need help?"

Nothing.

And then, the rope on the buoy went tight, pulling into the water.

When Great-Grandpa turned to look, that's when he saw...

Her.

- Come into the water, love.

Dance beneath the waves Where dwell the bones of sailor lads inside my saffron cave.

It was the Storm Hag.

- Great grandpa scrambled for his knife... "Cut the line, cut the line, cut the line!"

...sawing at the rope before it could grab him.

As the Storm Hag dropped into the water, he could hear her song, drifting out from below his boat.

He quickly grabbed for his bandana, stuffing it into his ears before rowing away as fast as he could.

Great-Grandpa didn't often talk about the storm hag, but when he did, it was with a reverence that I was too young to understand.

Not until long, long after he passed.

The lake's a cruel mistress.

Now, whether or not the Storm Hag is really real, who's to say?

But I wouldn't go out in the water during a storm.

- That's really spooky.

But also like, I wanna see if I can see her, but absolutely not - Do it.

Premier local cryptid photographer, Kayla.

- I mean, it was probably just some seaweed that was pushed onto the boat by a wave.

But that song, I can't get it outta my head.

- Isn't it strange?

Anytime me and my dad are on the boat, I can hear it in the waves, in the engine.

- Or maybe it's the sun driving you mad, hun?

- Oh, hey, is that the bridge?

- Where did he... - Boo!

- Jeez!

- Hey.

Not funny dude.

There's a whole freaking creek under us for Ethan to fall into if you give him a heart attack.

- Wasn't scared.

He put his freaking hand in my face.

It's a natural reaction, all right.

- Fine, fine, whatever.

Let's just go see if there's some cool graffiti.

- Yeah, let's do that.

- Hey guys... Who's that crossing the road.

- What's that?

What is that?

- Uhhh... - Is it like, is it a mountain goat?

- It was way too tall to be a goat.

And there are no wild goats here.

- Here well, I- I got it on my photo.

- Show us.

- Run.

Now!

This way.

- My camera!

- We're almost to the house!

- Leave it leave it leave it!

We gotta go!

- Is it, is it still out there?

- I can't see it.

I think it's staying away from the house.

- That was insane.

- Is everyone okay?

- I'm fine.

Or maybe dead.

Not sure.

Nope, still here.

- Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.

My camera.

I promise I'd keep it safe.

It's gone.

I, there's no way I'm getting that back.

What am I gonna tell my dad?

- Oh, Kayla, maybe it'll still be there in the morning.

We can look for it once it's light out.

- Hey, if I can find a baseball bat, I'll go now.

- No, no, no.

Wait, wait.

I've got it.

- Oh, oh, oh.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you.

- Can we look at the photos you took?

- Yeah, yeah, one second.

- Oh, - What is - There's- there's no way it was that close.

It wasn't even chasing us.

I haven't seen it since the bridge.

- Well, that's terrifying.

- I don't think it mattered how fast we were going.

- Oh?

- I think, I think it knew it could follow us.

- You don't think...?

- The jacket...

Think about it.

Jack had this jacket on during the first sighting back in the day, and the rest of the summer when there all those other sightings.

And when he locked the jacket up in the attic, no more Sheepman.

- No, there's no way.

- I mean, you know what shearling's made of right?

- Sheepskin.

- I highly doubt that's likely.

There are some farms around here with sheep, but I highly doubt any of them are supplying to major clothing manufacturers.

- Or maybe Ethan's on to something.

Maybe the shearling was sewn on later.

- Oh, maybe.

But- - Maybe someone added it on, locally, and something is trying to take revenge.

- This is sounding more and more ridiculous.

- Do you have a better explanation?

I mean, even I know what we saw out there wasn't a raccoon.

What else could have brought it out after all this time?

- I, I think I wanna delete the pictures.

I don't, I don't want it to be real.

- No, what?

How will anybody believe us?

- Do you think anyone would believe us, even with pictures?

Most things can be Photoshopped these days.

- It's better than nothing at all.

- Hey, do whatever you want, as long as I don't have to go back out there.

- If nothing else, we'll know what really happened.

Even if to everyone else, it'll just be another local ghost story.

- Chronicles is made possible by a grant from the Erie Community Foundation, a community assets grant provided by the Erie County Gaming Revenue Authority, support from Springhill Senior Living, and the generous support of Thomas B. Hagen.

We question and learn.