Dem Bones, Dem Bones...

Skeletons seem to be pretty popular these days when it comes to outdoor Halloween decorations. The creative displays I seen all over Lorain County, especially those utilizing the 8-foot tall variety, are pretty impressive. They remind me of the Cedar Point & Lake Erie Railroad railway excursion through Boneville, with its literal skeleton crew of firefighters, etc.

Anyway, I've got a pretty good story involving a skeleton. I wrote the article back in 2015, and it originally ran in the Black Swamp Trader, the well-remembered heritage and tourist newspaper printed in brown ink and available free at various locations (usually antique shops) along the shore of Lake Erie.  It appears here courtesy of that now-defunct publication.

Here is the story (below) as it originally appeared in the Black Swamp Trader.

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Bone up on Wood County History with this Spooky Black Swamp Story

By Dan Brady

Everyone likes a good ghost story, and since this publication is called the Black Swamp Trader & Firelands Gazette, what could be better than a tale that takes place right in the Black Swamp? Here’s a short, spooky saga from Myths & Legends of Our Own Land by Charles M. Skinner, published in 1896. It’s called “The Crime of Black Swamp” and make no bones about it – it’s scary! After the tale, I’ll relate my attempt to research it – and what I found may send shivers up your spine!

THE CRIME OF BLACK SWAMP

Two miles south of Munger, Ohio, in the heart of what used to be called the Black Swamp, stood the Woodbury House, a roomy mansion long gone to decay. John Cleves, the last to live in it, was a man whose evil practices got him into the penitentiary, but people had never associated him with the queer sights and sounds in the lower chambers, nor with the fact that a man named Syms, who had gone to that house in 1842, had never been known to leave it. Ten years after Syms’s disappearance it happened that Major Ward and his friend John Stow had occasion to take shelter there for the night – it being deserted, – and, starting a blaze in the parlor fireplace, they lit their pipes and talked till late. Stow would have preferred a happier topic, but the major, who feared neither man nor devil, constantly turned the talk on the evil reputation of the house.

While they chatted a door opened with a creak and a human skeleton appeared before them.

“What do you want? Speak!” cried Ward. But waiting for no answer he drew his pistols and fired two shots at the grisly object. There was a rattling sound, but the skeleton was neither dislocated nor disconcerted. Advancing deliberately, with upraised arm, it said, in a husky voice, “I, that am dead, yet live in a sense that mortals do not know. In my earthly life I was James Syms, who was robbed and killed here in my sleep by John Cleves.” With bony finger it pointed to a rugged gap in its left temple. “Cleves cut off my head and buried it under the hearth. My body he cast in his well.” At these words, the head disappeared and the voice was heard beneath the floor, “Take up my skull.” The watchers obeyed the call, and after digging a minute beneath the hearth, a fleshless head with a wound on the left temple came to view. Ward took it into his hands, but in a twinkling it left them and reappeared on the shoulder of the skeleton.

“I have long wanted to tell my fate,” it resumed, “but could not until one should be found brave enough to speak to me. I have appeared to many, but you are the first who has commanded me to break my long silence. Give my bones a decent burial. Write to my relative, Gilmore Syms, of Columbus, Georgia, and tell him what I have revealed. I have found peace.” With a grateful gesture it extended its hand to Ward, who, as he took it, shook like one with an ague, his wrist locked in its bony clasp. As it released him it raised its hand impressively. A bluish light burned at the doorway for an instant. The two men found themselves alone. 

And that's the story.

After a little digging at the public library, I found two vintage volumes that confirmed there really was a Woodbury House with a notorious reputation.

The Pioneer Scrap-Book of Wood County and the Maumee Valley, published in 1910, contains some factual information provided by C. W. Evers about Woodbury and the Woodbury House. It relates, “The village of Woodbury was surveyed and platted by Hiram Davis, a pioneer surveyor of Wood county, May 4, 1837, for John Thompson, Henry B. Gibson and Jabez B. Larwell. The location was at a point where the east and west line dividing Liberty and Henry townships, Wood county, intersect the Findlay pike. Two years prior to the survey or in 1835, a post office had been established, kept in a log store room by Joseph Thompson. After the survey General Thompson built the frame house which has been the theme of so many stories uncanny and otherwise. After General Thompson’s dream of a city growing up there had been dissipated by a few wet, sickly seasons, the house stood vacant at times for want of a tenant, and seems to have been occupied by some chance comer who had no other place to go. Now you know how soon a house of this sort will, deservedly perhaps, get a bad name – get “haunted,” etc. Some time in the 60’s, it burned to the ground, no doubt by design of someone to abate a nuisance. The post office was moved about in the settlement still retaining the name “Woodbury” until 1876, when it was dropped from the rolls and is now only a reminiscence.”

1872 Township Map

The Historical Record of Wood County, Ohio, Its Past and Present, published in 1897, acknowledges the murder legend and further embellishes the reputation of the Woodbury House. It states, “The Frame House at Woodbury was built by General Thompson, as the first house on the town site, on the Liberty side. A log house for store purposes was built on the Henry side, in 1835, wherein Joseph Thompson kept store. Neither of the buildings is standing, fire having reduced them to ashes. A number of stories are told about the Frame House, not the least of which relates to its habitation by witches. It was at one time occupied by John Clever and his sister; at another time by equally notorious citizens until fire swept it away. It was reported that a peddler named Nimms was killed there, and that his spirit haunted the place.”

Aside from some minor differences in names (Cleves vs. Clever, Syms vs. Nimms), the material found in the Wood County book corresponds nicely with the legend. (It should also be pointed out that Munger, the town mentioned in the story, is actually named Mungen, which is south of Bowling Green and located on the Dixie Highway.)

Since Skinner’s book contains legends from all across the United States, it is unclear whether the spelling errors are due to unfamiliarity with Ohio, the retelling of the legend over several decades, a deliberate effort to alter real names, or a combination of all three.

Nevertheless, "The Crime of Black Swamp" is ultimately satisfying because Syms's tortured soul finds peace at last. It’s only fitting that the setting of the story is the dark, mysterious Black Swamp. And it’s equally appropriate that the Woodbury House, a place associated with evil and the supernatural, should come to a fiery end, disappearing without a trace and thus existing only in legend and memory.