America's Most Haunted

Combining spine-tingling stories, documented evidence, and interviews with some of the top names in paranormal investigation—including the stars of TV’s “Ghost Hunters,” “Ghost Adventures,” and more—America’s Most Haunted gives you a terrifying chance to tour our nation’s most famous haunted places...

Throughout the United States, there are places haunted by souls both malevolent and benign. Places where paranormal activity runs rampant. Places where we can glimpse the other side.

In America’s Most Haunted, “Haunted Housewife” investigator Theresa Argie and journalist Eric Olsen team up to take you on a first-person tour of some of America’s most active paranormal hotspots.

Experience the crawl through the death tunnel where visitors have reported sightings of an inhuman creature that creeps along the walls and ceilings. Walk the decks of the Queen Mary with the hundreds of souls that met their ends in watery graves. And get to know the spirits that wait in jails, mansions, lunatic asylums, and even a stately old hotel.

Are you brave enough to take a look? | Theresa Argie, a.k.a "The Haunted Housewife," is an experienced paranormal investigator who has worked with some of the field's most well-respected experts. Theresa has been on several television shows, including "Paranormal Challenge" and "My Ghost Story." Eric Olsen is a leading journalist in the field of paranormal investigation. He is also a published author, media personality and respected blogger. Together, the two host the internet radio show, "America's Most Haunted." |

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

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Willoughby, Ohio

INTRODUCTION

Willoughby Coal is not your typical haunt—it’s a fully operational coal company and hardware store. In an era of “super haunts,” it’s refreshing to know that some of the most interesting places, the most haunted places, are little-known local treasures just waiting to be explored. Willoughby Coal represents that one place in every community that only the locals know about, a place so amazing they almost don’t want to share it with anyone. But they should.

Before the simple, beautiful Willoughby Coal building of today, a series of other structures and businesses called the property home, including a train depot, a flour mill, a cheese factory, and numerous inns and lodges such as the Zebra Stagecoach House. The Zebra, named for its unusual striped paint job, was destroyed by a fire in 1879.

In 1893, the current building was built for use as a flour mill, well placed between two railroad lines that made it convenient to move product to market. The mill was successful until automation killed it, and a coal company took over in 1912. The Golf-Kirby Coal Company provided essential fuel to the city, CP&E—the local interurban railroad—and the burgeoning Andrew School for Girls.

In the 1930s, Henry Windus and William “Don” Norris, ambitious employees of Golf-Kirby, joined forces and bought the business. They renamed it Willoughby Coal and Supply, a title it retained until a relatively recent change to Willoughby Coal and Garden Center.

After many successful years of operation, the owners decided to remodel the third floor of Willoughby Coal in 1947. Don Norris kept a watchful eye on progress, taking notes and making recommendations to the construction crew. On the morning of April 2, Norris, who lived nearby, kissed his wife, Maude, good-bye and headed off for work early at 7:10 A.M.

When the shop foreman arrived at Willoughby Coal at 7:40 A.M., he was greeted by a gruesome sight: A man’s mangled body lay facedown at the front entrance in a pool of blood. The entire left side of his head was bashed in, his face an unrecognizable mess. His outstretched arms were broken at the wrists. If not for the car still parked in its usual spot and the wallet in his pocket, the identity of the dead man would have been a mystery.

At first authorities thought Norris might have been robbed, but over $400 in company money was still on his person; his wallet was full of his personal cash; the keys to his brand-new car were still in the ignition; and his gold wristwatch, stopped at 7:26, was still on his broken wrist.

The investigators’ next thought was that for some strange reason Norris had climbed the coal uploader on the side of the building to go up to the third floor, fallen, and somehow crawled to the front of the building. This idea was quickly dismissed when investigators realized that the extent of Norris’s injuries would have made it impossible for him to crawl anywhere, let alone from the side of the building to the front.

Norris’s bloody, battered body was sent to the local funeral home, where the director, oddly, found over a cup of coal dust in the dead man’s clothing. The clothes Norris had worn that morning had been freshly laundered. How could he have collected that much coal residue in such a short period of time? The director also found a small hole in Norris’s left boot.

The grieving family and stunned community wanted answers, and the police cobbled together a theory. Don Norris had arrived at work early, as was his habit, to check on the previous day’s renovations. He had climbed up to the third-floor rafters to examine progress there. A circular window space approximately three feet in diameter, just under the crest of the roof, was open in the front wall. Norris’s foot had gotten caught on a nail sticking up from the wood. He had lost his balance and pitched forward through the open window space, tragically plummeting three stories to his death.

This tenuous sequence of events was accepted as the cause of death for decades. To those unfamiliar with the building, or basic physics, this closed the case. But the dots never really connected. Norris would have had to dive toward the circular opening like Superman in order to get there from the rafters; simply tripping would not have propelled him that distance. Also, the mystery of the coal dust was never officially addressed.

There was nothing in the contract that provided for the widow or the family of the deceased partner. Maybe Norris never gave much thought to dying so young. Maybe he wasn’t aware of the death clause in the contract, or maybe he never suspected his partner would leave his poor widow and children high and dry. Maude Norris took in boarders and laundry to make ends meet. All she was left with was a bucket of tears and baskets of dirty laundry.

Many decades later, in the fall of 2011, Cathi Weber led a small group on her usual Willoughby Ghost Walk rounds. When they arrived at Willoughby Coal, Cathi told the ghostly tales and haunted happenings surrounding the building, including the story of Don Norris, which she had researched extensively for her book, Haunted Willoughby, Ohio. When she got to the details of his death, a hand went up in the crowd.

“Excuse me, I have something to add to that story,” said a young man.

Cathi was surprised but intrigued. “Of course, if you have any information I’d love to hear it.”

The young man introduced himself as the grandson of William “Don” Norris. He said the official cause of death was incorrect, it hadn’t been an accident. His grandfather had been murdered! Now that his grandmother had joined her husband in death, the family felt compelled to speak out about what had really happened that fateful morning.

Cathi was speechless. The young man did indeed know many details that only someone who had extensively researched the case—or who was a family member—would know. According to the Norris family, Henry Windus had wanted the business, the whole business. He had tried to buy his partner’s half, but Don Norris had not been interested in selling. A clause in the partnership agreement between Windus and Norris stated that upon the death of one owner, the other would retain full control of Willoughby Coal and Supply. After several attempts to get control legally, Windus had allegedly hatched a dastardly scheme.

Windus knew of his partner’s early-morning habits, this version goes, and on April 2 he was waiting for him. With the help of someone or several “someones,” Windus jumped Norris when he arrived at the store, dragged him up to the third floor onto the scaffolding at the front face of the building, and viciously tossed him out the window opening, whence he plunged fifty feet to his death.

This version of the incident would account for the injuries to his face and hands and the mysterious coal dust found on the dead man’s clothes. Intriguing and logical, yes, but there is no way to prove any of it and the case has long been closed.

Don Norris’s spirit haunts Willoughby Coal because not only was it the place of his untimely death, it was the place of his life. He poured his blood, sweat, and tears into his work, and now his essence remains, crying out for justice, for someone to hear the truth, whatever that may be.

The untimely and mysterious death of Don Norris isn’t the only recorded death on the grounds of Willoughby Coal. Another man, an employee, died inside the building in the 1970s.

Zip was an older gentleman who was fond of the drink. His problem with alcohol led to the breakup of his marriage and loss of his home. He had no family to speak of, so the owners of Willoughby Coal took pity on this troubled man and let him stay in the building at night, watching over the place as a quasi security guard.

People knew him as an eccentric character who kept to himself for the most part. He had some unusual habits and odd mannerisms, often mumbling to himself. He was also very protective of the few belongings he actually owned.

Zip lived inside the building for many months, making his home in the back of the first floor until he died of a massive heart attack prepping a load of coal for delivery. The rumor that he had hidden something in the walls began to surface immediately after his death. Some thought it was money; others thought it was a collection of antique guns. Myriad tall tales turned a nondescript Willoughby Coal employee into a legend.

No one knows what Zip hid, if anything, inside Willoughby Coal, but apparently he is still guarding it. His apparition has been seen on the first, second, and third floors quite frequently over the last four decades. He’s careful not to show himself completely, letting you catch only quick glimpses of his disheveled form. His footsteps echo off the brick walls, fading into silence once you’ve tracked their source.

Invasion of the Body Snatchers

The settlement that became Willoughby was prime real estate along the Chagrin River about twenty miles east of Cleveland. In the early 1830s, a group of enterprising young physicians began a quest to start a medical college in the hamlet, called Chagrin at the time. The townsfolk of Chagrin weren’t sold on the idea of a medical college—medical colleges were notorious for obtaining cadavers for anatomy training through sometimes unscrupulous methods.

The schemers, led by Dr. John Anderson, petitioned esteemed doctor Westel Willoughby Jr. to come and preside over their fair institution of higher medical learning. The good doctor was flattered but reluctant to leave New York. Anderson and company tried another tactic—they renamed the town after Willoughby. The great man, while thanking them for such an honor, never set foot in the town that still bears his name.

In the sultry summer of 1843, the restive spirit of one Eli Tarbel, a mature gentleman dead three days from typhoid fever, revolted against his defilers, protesting to his widow in a vivid and disturbing dream that his “body was being taken apart piece by piece at the Willoughby Medical College.” When Mrs. Tarbel awoke, she gathered her daughter and they went immediately to the cemetery. After discovering his grave empty, the alarmed woman alerted neighbors and the Lake County Guard, who stormed the school with pitchforks and torches looking for Eli’s missing parts.

The enraged mob invaded the college grounds, demanding answers and demanding justice. Mr. Tarbel was found and a sophisticated grave-robbing and body-snatching ring was uncovered and thwarted by an outraged spirit and his widow.

The college was unable to recover from this stain; enrollment dropped, staff left the school, and the curtain closed on the medical college for good in 1847. But various uprooted doctors and trustees went on to establish the Starling Medical College (now the Ohio State University College of Medicine), the Medical Department of Western Reserve (now Case Western Reserve University School of Medicine), and an all-female seminary that went on to become the Lake Erie College for Women.

Not a bad legacy for a bunch of grave robbers.

Take the Haunted Tour—The Parking Lot

This haunted tour is unusual because it begins outside the building. This location is so active that the hauntings spill out onto the property. Willoughby Coal is more than just the brick-and-mortar building that we see today, it is a place full of memories, ripe with history. Who’s to say that the ghosts that haunt Willoughby Coal weren’t here long before the current stone structure was built? Or that the land itself isn’t thick with the spirits of Native Americans, foreign explorers, and early settlers?

Personal Experience—
Theresa Argie: The Haunted Housewives Meet

I’ll never forget the first time I laid eyes on Willoughby Coal in September 2009, a pivotal moment in my paranormal career—the night I met my Haunted Housewives partner Cathi Weber.

Cathi ran a popular historic ghost walk in downtown Willoughby. Her reputation as a storyteller and historian preceded her. I was teaching ghost-hunting workshops and seminars at the time but wanted to get more involved with community events. I hoped to learn from her experience and wisdom.

Cathi invited me to join her on the ghost walk so we could meet and discuss the possibility of working together. We shared a love of the paranormal and history, and I was excited to see her in action.

Cathi was a natural. Her recitation at each stop was colorful and detailed, complete with profound personal observations and the perfect mix of horror and humor. The history of Willoughby was fascinating, and every stop intrigued me more than the one before.

After a short walk out of Willoughby’s bustling downtown, we made our way across the railroad tracks to a large gravel parking lot. Set about a hundred yards back, behind a smaller building that resembled a barn, was a three-story brick structure: our destination, Willoughby Coal.

As we moved closer to the building, I noticed other structures around it: a small red one-story “barn” with plants and outdoor décor used as a garden center; the Willoughby Area Welcome Center, set in an old silver train car painted with stripes of red, white, and blue; and a large white storage shed adjacent to the train tracks that run alongside the parking lot.

I moved slowly across the parking lot, the loose gravel crunching under my feet. I was mesmerized by the simple façade of the building, its candlelit windows peering at me like eyes. There was a round, bricked-up hole at the top center of the third floor, and I couldn’t take my eyes off it.

But as I approached, my body reacted in a surprising and painful manner: With each step my stomach churned more uncomfortably. One moment I was completely fine and the next I was overcome with nausea. I stopped, startled by the sudden sickness.

“Whew . . . wow,” I said out loud as I buckled over in pain.

Cathi noticed and immediately stopped. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I don’t know, I just suddenly feel awful.” I’d barely gotten the words out when I began to dry-heave.

“I’ll be fine, I’ll catch up in a minute.” I was totally embarrassed.

Reluctantly, Cathi continued with the rest of the group toward the front of the building. She stood atop the platform outside the main door with her candlelit lantern as the small crowd oohed and aahed at her story. I couldn’t hear her over my own noisy stomach. I took a sip from my water bottle, composed myself, and started walking again. The sick feeling returned, with a vengeance.

I stopped again and waited for the feeling to pass before I dared take another step.

After another brief pause, I started toward the group, but the discomfort continued to build. I felt the blood drain from my face and a cold sweat cover my body. I was shaking, trembling, weak in the knees. I thought I might fall to the ground. I couldn’t stop the feeling of dread from overtaking me. Now I really did have to throw up. I staggered over toward the garden center and vomited into a garbage can.

That was it for me. I wasn’t going any farther.

Cathi finished telling her tale and returned to check on me. She tried to sit me on the platform by the front door, but every time I moved in that direction I just got more nauseated. I was mortified by the scene I was making—nice first impression, Theresa! Cathi took my arm and walked me away from the garden barn back toward the parking lot entrance.

The farther I got from Willoughby Coal, the better I felt. Like breaking away from the pull of some invisible force field, the bonds magically loosened as I headed back toward the street. The color returned to my alabaster face and the dizziness passed as my equilibrium stabilized. By the time we crossed the railroad tracks I was fine, except for the total humiliation.

I believe I was overwhelmed with the paranormal energy emanating from the three-story brick structure. It was oozing out like invisible waves, all focused directly at me. There is so much activity there, so many stories, so many spirits all fighting for attention, needing to be noticed, to be remembered.

Take the Haunted Tour—The First Floor

The moment you set foot inside Willoughby Coal, you know it’s no ordinary place. Part coal company, part hardware store, part curio museum, Willoughby Coal is definitely unique. Once, the need for coal was essential to the townsfolk in the area. It was a source of power and warmth in the days before electric or gas furnaces. Today only a few patrons actually come to Willoughby Coal for coal, but the resourceful owners have found other ways to stay in business.

Crossing the threshold of the front door, you enter a world filled with the past. An assortment of unusual antiques are displayed on walls, hanging from the ceiling, tucked in every corner. A seven-foot-tall railroad crossing light looms as you enter the store. An old barber’s chair sits in a corner next to a vintage phone booth and wooden wheelchair. A series of barbaric-looking handsaws hang from the rafters, dangling like deadly stalactites. A large rusty scythe is secured to the brick support column across from the counter.

There are classic children’s toys, outdated musical instruments, old faded advertising materials, even rusted push-pedal scooters scattered about in deliberate disarray all over the store. It is like a bizarro-world TGI Friday’s.

To the right of the front door, there is a large work counter where the proprietors do their business with the public. Several signs, both old and new, hang above the cash register and on the walls. Behind the counter is a door that leads to the offices and employee restroom. Directly across from the counter are the wooden stairs that lead to the second floor.

One thing that people notice, besides the antiques everywhere, is how dark it is inside the building. There are two front windows and two on the side, but even in the light of day and under fluorescent artificial light, it remains dark on the merchandise floor, which adds to the eeriness of the store, setting the scene for some good ghost stories!

Personal Experience—
Theresa Argie: Shadows Everywhere, Ho Hum

The first time I actually made it into Willoughby Coal was a few weeks after my queasy introduction on the ghost walk with Cathi. She invited me back to check out the inside and get a better feel for the place. I was a bit apprehensive, having become so violently ill in the parking lot, but I told myself this time would be different: no bad vibes, no stomach issues, no headache, no dizziness.

I thought it an odd building to be haunted, but Cathi assured me it was. As I walked through the door, I saw peculiar objects everywhere. It was as if I’d stepped into an exploded antique shop or wind-torn garage sale. But then I saw the store counter, the register, the security camera, things that indicated it was indeed a place of business.

My mind was bombarded with visual input from all around; I didn’t know where to start. Cathi suggested we tour the entire place first so I could get oriented. As we walked methodically through each area, my eyes darted back and forth rapidly, scanning each dimly lit corner. We were alone at Willoughby Coal, or so I thought. My heightened peripheral vision noticed a dark shadow peeking around the door to the back storage room. When I turned to face it, it disappeared only to reappear seconds later behind some shelving on the back wall.

“So, do you ever see shadow play in this area?” I asked as my eyes continued to search the dark.

“Oh yes, lots of shadows. I catch glimpses of them out of the corner of my eyes. Why? Did you see something?” Cathi was not the least bit surprised.

“Well, I’m seeing something, some sort of movement in the back there.” I pointed to the rear of the store.

“They’re everywhere in this building. I think they’re checking us out.” Cathi was unfazed by this familiar visual phenomenon.

“Let’s check out the stockroom. It’s a great place for EVPs, and it’s where I had my first paranormal experience inside this place,” Cathi said as we headed back into the storage rooms and loading dock area.

Personal Experience—
Karen-Mackay Argie (Daughter of Theresa Argie)

Having a mom who’s a ghost hunter can be, well, awkward. But growing up with the paranormal has become normal for me and my family. My little brother, Jack, and I have been around the ghosty stuff all our lives. We even get to participate in some of Mom’s projects. I help Cathi and her with the ghost walks in the fall, pushing tours and answering questions. It’s kind of fun, and I really like the history part!

Sometimes I help out with ghost classes: my mom’s Ghost Hunting 101 and Cathi’s Junior Ghost Hunting classes held at Willoughby Coal. The junior class is fun; it has lots of other kids, even some around my age. I feel more comfortable around the kids and they usually like hearing my stories. I’ve learned a lot about ghosts over the years!

Paranormal Activities

Shadow Play: the visual phenomenon of unusual, distinct, and/or intelligent movement of shadows, typically with no apparent natural source.

Electronic Voice Phenomenon (EVP): ghostly voices or sounds not audible to the unaided ear that are captured on electronic recording devices, which detect a broader range of frequencies than the human ear.

In the summer of 2012, Jack and I were at the Junior Ghost Hunting class at Willoughby Coal. There were about a dozen kids there, ranging in age from about six (Jack) to eleven (me). A few of the parents stayed as well, just in case someone got scared. Mom and Cathi gave a presentation about ghosts and what to do if you want to find them. After a quick lesson on how to use the equipment, we started investigating.

We were all on the first floor, near the stockroom. There were all kinds of tools, industrial buckets, and boxes of tile stacked on the floor. There were huge shelves with lots of plumbing and building material on them as well. All the kids were huddled together between the shelves and the back stock area.

Mom led an EVP session. “Are there any spirits here that would like to come out and say hello? We’ve brought visitors today.”

Cathi joined in: “The children have come to meet you. No one will hurt you; we just want to prove to them that you’re here.”

Mom continued, “If you’re here, can you make a noise or move something for us?”

Right after my mom finished asking that question, we all heard this really really loud crashing sound. BOOM!!! It was such a big sound, I could feel the concrete floor vibrate.

“AAAAAAAAHH!” All the kids screamed at the same time. I’m pretty sure some adults did too.

Mom and Cathi ran over to where the crash had come from. We could see dust particles rising from the floor right next to one of the large shelves. Something big must have fallen off the top shelf. We all crowded in around Mom and Cathi. The parents waiting in the other room came in to investigate as well.

There was nothing on the ground—I couldn’t believe it! We had all heard it and seen the dust. I was sure it would be a huge box or large piece of something. Cathi looked all around with her flashlight, making sure something hadn’t dropped and maybe rolled away, but she found nothing.

A few of us had voice recorders running and you could hear the crash on playback.

To this day, I have no clue what made that noise or why nothing was there when we went to look. Mom and Cathi had everyone’s full attention for the rest of the class!

THE STOCKROOM

To the right of the main entrance is a doorway that separates the showroom from the stockroom. Once you go through that door, another side of Willoughby Coal is revealed. The stockroom is a place where merchandise is delivered, received, and stored. Past the stockroom is the loading dock, a raised platform that drops five feet into a ground-level pit filled with metal machines and stacks of unprocessed merchandise. The store’s first floor is elevated, hence the stairs at the front door.

Without the aid of artificial light, the stockroom is dark, very dark. But many reliable sources have reported seeing eye shine peering out at them from the gloom. Several years ago, during a routine “rattling door” check, a rookie Willoughby patrol officer stopped by Willoughby Coal on a winter evening to make sure everything was locked up tight and nothing was out of place. These door checks help businesses ward off crime and foster good community relations.

Paranormal Activities

Eye Shine: the glowing reflection created when light from an external source strikes eyes, alive or otherwise.

Upon finding the front door ajar, the officer entered the store, looking for a presumed intruder. On the first floor he thought he heard someone right behind him, but when he turned, nothing and no one was there. This disturbing sensation was repeated on each subsequent floor of the store. After determining there was no human intruder inside Willoughby Coal, the cop made a mad dash for the front door.

During another routine check of the building, a different officer noticed some strange shadows in one of the downstairs windows. He climbed the front stairs and shined his flashlight inside but could find nothing out of place. He repeated this procedure at all the first-floor windows but couldn’t see anyone inside.

He ventured to the back side of the building near the loading docks. There was no window for him to investigate, so he shined his light through the slats on the large bay door. He cautiously placed his face up to the tiny opening and peered inside.

His heart nearly stopped when his light beam hit what appeared to be two glowing eyes glaring back at him! These faceless eyes appeared right at head level, so they couldn’t have been an animal, but they certainly weren’t human. The stunned officer beat a hasty retreat back to the safety of his patrol car and drove off.

Trying to rationalize the experience, he immediately telephoned the owner and asked who was living inside the storeroom. The owners assured him the place was empty; no one was inside Willoughby Coal, except for the ghosts.

Personal Experience—
Cathi Weber (Haunted Housewives Co-Founder, Paranormal Investigator, Author)

Willoughby is a magical place and I’m proud to call it my hometown. I started the Willoughby Ghost Walk because I was fascinated by all the history around me. Where there’s history, there’s haunting. I grew up surrounded by the iconic buildings and storefronts of this town and I was dying to know their stories, their real stories, the ones left out of the history books. My research had uncovered many ghostly happenings at Willoughby Coal and I needed to have an experience of my own!

It didn’t take much effort to persuade the then-owners of Willoughby Coal, Jay Byram and Dan Garry (Dan sold his interest in 2011), to let me do a paranormal investigation. They were curious to see what I would come up with spending the night inside the store.

I invited a small group to join me; some were experienced paranormal investigators, some just curious ghost enthusiasts. Since there were more than a dozen of us, I thought it best we break into small groups and take turns inside; this way we could avoid audio contamination.

The first group went in while the rest of us waited patiently outside. Not long after they entered the building, one young lady came bounding out the front door. She was terrified, shaking uncontrollably and nearly in tears. As she had entered the stockroom area, something very large had come rushing at her. She described it as big, dark brown, and hairy like an animal.

“Oh my God, that was so scary! I thought I was about to be attacked!”

I asked her to keep this incident to herself until the end of the night. I didn’t want to scare anyone or put ideas regarding what to expect in their heads.

The next group took its turn inside. When they came out, I asked if anything had happened. “No, it was really quiet. We didn’t hear anything at all. We didn’t see any shadows either,” a member of the group replied, a tinge of disappointment in her voice.

“Wow, really? Nothing, huh?” I was kind of surprised myself.

“Well, the only weird thing was the smell. It was awful,” she said.

I was confused. “What smell?”

“Oh God, the horrible smell back in the stockroom. It was overpowering. Gross.”

I’d been in the building dozens of times and never noticed any unusual smell, certainly nothing “gross.”

But the group insisted. “It smelled like old wet dirty dog or something. Yuck!”

Group three entered the building. When they came back out, I noticed confused looks on their faces. I asked if anything had happened. The group leader said they hadn’t seen anything, but their audio recorder had picked up an unusual sound.

When we played it back, there was a low growling noise. The animalistic sound was unmistakable and terrifying.

Now I was really puzzled. What was going on inside Willoughby Coal? I’d soon find out for myself, as it was my group’s turn to go inside. We headed immediately toward the stockroom, where everyone else had had their experiences. We gathered by the loading dock, careful not to fall off the ledge. Tiny slivers of streetlight peeked through the slats in the loading dock door from the security light outside. Other than that, it