Warning: These stories may cause arm hairs to raise. Graphic by Maddy Broderick.
Urban legends toe the line between art and accident. All who hear them are left to wonder: is that chilling tale real, or did somebody not know what they saw one day? Perhaps its origin is nothing more than a prank. No matter the answer, these convoluted stories and the ghouls that haunt them are tricky treats to hear in the Halloween season. The Culture section has arrived to tell the short versions for the curious and/or meek.
MADDY BRODERICK | CULTURE EDITOR | mbroderick@butler.edu
The Congress Plaza Hotel
Opened in 1893 in anticipation of the World’s Columbian Exposition in Chicago, The Congress Plaza Hotel on Michigan Avenue has hosted everyone from presidents to Hollywood stars. However, some may not know of the facade that looms behind its doors. One of the most haunting tales is that of Adele Langer, a Czech refugee who, in 1939, checked into the hotel with her sons after fleeing Nazi-occupied Europe. When the family returned from what seemed like a pleasant day in the town, Langer unexpectedly threw her sons from the 12th-floor window before leaping to her own death. Ever since, guests, guards and tourists have reported seeing the ghost of one of the sons — Karel Langer — wandering the halls where his life tragically ended. Countless other spirits are said to linger throughout the building; guests who, as the legend goes, never truly checked out.
ANA DOLLARD | ASSISTANT CULTURE EDITOR | adollard@butler.edu
The Furnace Girl
Almost 100 years ago, Sunday school teacher Elfrieda Knaak was found badly burned and barely breathing near the furnace of the Lake Bluff Village Hall. She died a few days later. While her death was ruled a suicide, there was suspicion from the town’s residents. Police force findings reported foul play; however, when questioned by doctors and nurses at Lake Forest Hospital during her final days, her story changed many times. While in transport, Knaak said the words “I did it,” though the placement of her burns did not seem to add up. Later findings revealed that for Knaak to have received those specific burn patterns, she would have had to burn each hand individually, then stand on one foot backwards, before standing on her already burned foot to burn the other. To this day, the case remains under debate. Some say that if they walk past the village hall late at night, they can see the ghost of Elfrieda Knaak looking back at them through the window.
ABBY KIDWELL | ASSISTANT CULTURE EDITOR | arkidwell@butler.edu
Waverly Hills Sanatorium
The Waverly Hills Sanatorium — located just outside of Louisville, Kentucky — is known as one of the most haunted buildings in the country. Upon its opening in 1910, the structure served as a quarantine zone for tuberculosis patients until it was turned into a nursing home in the 1950s. The hospital was notably shut down in 1982 for neglect and abuse, and its bleak halls have not served any official purpose besides hosting brave tour groups. Paranormal enthusiasts know Waverly Hills for its “body chute” or “death tunnel” — a steep, ominous underground cavern used for transporting deceased patients from one end of the grounds to the other without detection. A chilling variety of Waverly Hills ghost stories and legends center on the wailing spirits of sick patients, depressed nurses and lonely children. Visitors report slamming doors, shadow people and cold spots, which are just the tip of an eerie iceberg.
HARRISON PRYOR | STAFF REPORTER | hrpryor@butler.edu
The 100 Steps Cemetery
A drive down U.S. Route 40 and a keen eye will be rewarded by the sight of the Carpenter Cemetery. The graveyard rests on a hill, the top of which lies at the end of 100 stone steps — or does it? The legend goes that if one treks up and back down the stairs at midnight, counting along their way, there will be 100 steps up and a different number going down. Perhaps some spirit has shifted the cemetery itself, but some say to wait at the top for the true answer. At the summit, the ghost of the 100 Steps Cemetery’s first keeper supposedly appears, showing the visitor a vision of their death. If the steps number 100 on the trip back down, the ghoulish prophet was wrong. However, if one strays from the stairs or does not count, they do not just fall down the hill — they are pushed by forces unseen.
SAMUEL DEMIS | STAFF REPORTER | sademis@butler.edu
The Loveland Frogman
Many years ago off the banks of the Little Miami River, a traveling salesman spotted a mysterious figure crouched on the side of an unnamed road. He extended a friendly greeting, hoping to make one more sale as the sun set — but this creature was no mere human. At four feet tall, with leathery skin, webbed feet and a gaping, toothless maw, the creature did not match the description of any known animal. The salesman could barely let out a gasp before the figure leapt into the river. This was the first recorded encounter with the Loveland Frogman. For years, travelers in Loveland, Ohio, have been menaced by the enormous amphibian, be they police officers on a nightly patrol or teenagers playing Pokémon Go. One report described the Frogman brandishing a crackling electric wand. Some claim there are multiple Frogmen. Others swear the beast is merely a giant iguana. The city of Loveland has embraced the Frogman, making the creature its mascot and celebrating an annual Frogman Festival — but is this a cheeky embrace of a ridiculous urban legend, or an attempt to appease the fearsome frog before he strikes again?
SOPHIE PURVIS | STAFF REPORTER | spurvis@butler.edu
The Blue Lady
Founded in 1851, the village of Story, Indiana, is home to the infamous Blue Lady. Dr. George Story established the town, but during the Great Depression, the town was abandoned. Story was once again purchased in 1998 by Rick Hofstetter, who reopened the Story Inn. This is when the town began to gain its reputation for paranormal activity. Hofstetter began noticing blue things left in rooms, the scent of cherry tobacco and the sight of a female aberration. The Blue Lady is said to be the wife of Dr. George Story, and visitors today can stay in the Blue Lady room, known to be a paranormal hot spot. Many guests today report hearing scratching in the middle of the night and finding blue objects scattered around their rooms. Some have even reported being visited by the Blue Lady herself.
LAUREN OFFENBACKER | STAFF REPORTER | loffenbacker@butler.edu
The Vanishing Hitchhiker of U.S. Route 47
Long before GPS and cell phones, weary travelers along U.S. Route 47 told tales of a young woman — pale, dripping wet, wearing a torn prom dress — thumbing rides by the roadside. Drivers who dared to stop said she spoke softly, asking for a lift home. When they reached the address she gave, she was gone — vanished from the back seat without a sound. When one curious driver knocked on the door, an elderly woman answered. Her eyes welled with tears when she heard the name of her supposed passenger. “That’s my daughter,” she whispered. “She died on this road fifty years ago tonight.” To this day, on rainy spring evenings, motorists swear they see her standing there — waiting, hand outstretched, for one more ride home.
KINLEY SHOEMAKER | STAFF REPORTER | kbshoemaker@butler.edu
Edna Collins Bridge
Built in 1922 over Little Walnut Creek in Clinton Falls, Indiana, the Edna Collins Bridge was constructed after a flood destroyed the original crossing. For years, it was ordinary — until a child’s death changed it forever. Locals say the bridge belongs to the ghost of Edna Collins, a young girl who often played in the creek below with her dog while her parents waited nearby. When they honked three times to call her home one evening, she didn’t answer. Her parents found her drowned, though no one ever learned how. Her mother stopped speaking, and her father returned nightly to the bridge he later rebuilt as her memorial. More than a century later, drivers still test the legend: they turn off their headlights, honk three times, and listen. Some claim to hear laughter beneath the boards or see fingerprints on fogged glass. A few leave without saying a word, deciding that not every story needs proof.
